


Trust & Guardianship: After the Fall- Escape from Kirkwall

by scarletcougar



Series: Trust and Guardianship [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adult Content, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Romance, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 76,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dragon Age tale of Anders and Fenris. They need each other. They just don’t realize it yet, nor do they realize just how much. The first step is trust. How will two people who believe themselves to be enemies learn how similar their pasts are and how similar their goals in life are? The next step is guardianship. Can they... will they... protect each other?</p><p>RATED: M (Mature) for language, violence, nudity, sex and all that fun forbidden stuff. It might get re-rated to E (explicit) later on.</p><p>DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE! I take no credit for the canon characters and Dragon Age world. They belong to the Bioware developers. I just wish to play in their sandbox and use their shovels and pails. Also, there is a song in here that is from the Googoo Dolls (Iris).</p><p>CREDIT: I paid for and commissioned all art work from the cover art to chapter art pieces for the Trust & Guardianship series. They are all created by askbroodyelf from Tumblr. If you like her work, you should commission her. Please to not use any of the art you see here for your own purposes without my express permission. Please go pay for your own art, thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Waking Sea

~ Eight years after the Fifth Blight, Dragon Age.

The old ship tilted gently as it sailed over the waves with a decent wind. The crew of elven smugglers efficiently followed their leader, Athenril, without question. There would always be profit if they did. The holds were packed full of goods for trade, both legal and illegal. The secret compartment stuffed with lyrium chunks and dust, heading to a dwarven contact in Fereldan. This was not their only cargo. On the rare, very rare occasion, they had living cargo. Never slaves. Fugitives usually, like this time.

This trip, their fugitives stayed in a very small room, no more than nine feet across and six feet deep. A well nailed down bed took up most of the space, while a trunk (also nailed down) and a hammock took up the rest with a patch of bare wall beside the door. The bed was like a large rectangular box with a thin mattress fitted into the top. Under the bed was a latched drawer for storing such long items as swords and staffs and bows. The door was on the left of the tiny room with the hammock strung in the right corner almost over the trunk.

Here the fugitives stayed, crammed in the stuffy confines, closer to one another than they ever wanted to be for any great length of time. A dark skinned, lyrium-tattooed elf stood or rather leaned his back against the only bare patch of wall between the door and hammock. Weapons and armor were stored away against his better judgement, but they were trying to pass off as training sailors.  He stepped forward and thudded down to sit upon a box since the room lacked any chairs. He scowled viciously first at the evil in the corner to his left. Then he scowled viciously at the evil across the room in the corner on the bed. A low growl rising up now and then. 

“Fenris,” the blond human intoned gently as he sat in the corner of the bed with his boots off, legs curled close and scribbling in his journal, “Neither I nor that hammock will burst into flames and turn to ash no matter how angrily to glower at us. It is not alive. It is not an abomination. It will not attack you. It did not attack you like a spelled creation, no matter what you think.”

“Yes it did.” The dark snap of his voice could have fired a bolt if he were the mage of the two of them. The offending hammock remained gently swinging; though a tangled mess from his attempt to settle into it as he had seen other sailors do with ease.

“Look, if you want the bed; that’s fine. I can take the floor for a while.”

“See! Not even you will get into it.”

Anders lifted his eyes from his journal and patiently tucked his stylus between the pages. A little quirk of a grin turned the corners of his mouth as he spoke, “I like all four paws on the floor, thanks.” He liked alluding to shapeshifting into a cat and really wished he had learned that magic.

Fenris tensed. He still disliked talking about magic, especially the subtle illusions. It tugged at his mistrust. The idea that a harmless animal might actually be a mage in disguise completely unsettled him.

“By the Maker, Fenris, it was a metaphor.” Anders could see this spiralling into yet another fight. “Stop it, okay? Just… stop. I never look at you like you are a slave. Stop looking at me like I am an abomination.” Even though Anders had been wondering for many months if maybe he actually was.

Fenris averted his eyes. He hadn’t called Anders an abomination in months. Yet since the Fall of the Circle and destruction of the Chantry and Gallows back in Kirkwall, Anders seemed to assume this is how he was viewed by all. “You deny it so much that I am not certain you know yourself anymore.”

Their eyes met. Fenris’ eyes were calm, cautious and thoughtful, baiting Anders and wondering how the mage would react. Anders’ eyes widened and he turned away to inspect the grain of the wood by his shoulder, hands clutching his journal so hard they almost shook. Fenris pushed himself off the box and left the room. He closed the door, knowing he should not go far, leaned silently against it and listened.

His keen elven hearing caught Anders take in several ragged breaths and muffle a yell through clenched teeth. Then the journal made a fluttering noise followed by a thud as it impacted the wall just over the hammock. A rustling on the bed and a smothered whimper was all he then heard before he decided it was safe enough to go find some food. Anders’ emotions were like the sea. You never knew how much turmoil was under the surface or when it would rise up to smash and crash against everything, consumed and controlled by the spirit that possessed him. Dealing with him was always better on a full stomach, just like killing slavers and demons. Never go into battle hungry, it was distracting. Also, the growl of your stomach could give away your hidden location.

When he returned, Anders was curled in a tight ball on the bed facing the wall. Fenris approached carefully, detecting that Anders had fallen asleep in the hour it took Fenris to procure food. His hand hovered a moment above Anders’ shoulder, then drew away. He debated kicking the bed and telling him there was food. Instead, he took advantage of the oblivious mage. He very delicately touched the fine blond hair that was as soft as the feathers on the mage’s coat Anders favored. Anders whimpered with distress. “Hush… I know you are not an abomination. Sometimes out of control, yes, but not an abomination,” his voice low and rumbling in a whisper, almost like a purr. “And if you do become one, I will be here to end you.” He did not speak with malice. It was simply fact. A fact and a truth, something Anders can trust.

When Anders drifted deeper into a more calm sleep, Fenris sat, ate, and dug out one of Anders’ earliest of journals. He still had difficulty reading, but these were the only books they brought with which he was willing to practice. He sure as the Deep Roads was not going to read any texts on mage craft. And, well, Anders never told him he couldn’t read these journals in which he was always writing. He figured that this would be the best way to get to know Anders than trying to talk to him. Talking with him always ended in quips, jests, witty commentary, or fighting. If he was going to keep his promise to Hawke, he had to find a way to come to terms with the mage.

 


	2. Fenris on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Fenris’ journal, if he had kept one, but at the time, he did not know how to read or write.

~ During the fifth Blight, Dragon Age.

_Where do I begin? What does one say about a past full of the things I have endured and the things I have done? Nothing. Nothing, or Danarius will find me. His hunters dog my every move. Just when I feel like maybe I have found freedom, like maybe I could live and set down roots, there they are… again. Minrathous is far behind me. Nevarra, too. Even Orlais. I can run. I can fight. I can kill. And I will. He made me this way with his vile magic and this lyrium he has burned into my flesh for all to see. “Little Wolf” he had called me. His slave, his pet, his tool of death. I am not his, not anymore. I will not be his! I will cut a bloody path to my freedom if I have to._

_No matter where I go, though, I stand out. Elves… are not really free. Cowering is squalor or living like animals in the wilderness declaring they are the last true Dalish. I hate how people look at me. I hate that they do not see ME! Just a tattooed elf with a big blade._

_Maybe in Fereldan I will find freedom? No… the Blight is there, the darkspawn. Shame it didn’t come to Tevinter and wipe out all the damned magisters and mages. Instead, it is driving mass amounts of refugees out to the Free Marches. Free Marches… are they really free? The towns are locking their doors and sending people on. Last stop is Kirkwall. It is as good a place as any to make a stand._

_Denarius! Do you hear me? Kirkwall. I will be hiding there, waiting there. I will be waiting for you! Come get me if you dare! I am not your slave anymore! I am not your Little Wolf. I am Fenris! I am the Dread Wolf!_

_Do you hear me?! I AM NOT A SLAVE!_


	3. Anders on the Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Anders’ first journal.

~ One year after the fifth Blight, Dragon Age.

_Where do I begin? What does one say about a past full of the things I have endured and the things I have done? How could I ever make up for the blood on my hands? There is no place for me anywhere in this world. I just don’t… belong. Or is there? Dare I hope? Can I atone? The mistakes I have made… The freedom I thought I had but didn’t. I only traded one set of chains for another… and then another. What am I? Who am I? Sometimes I can answer that easily. Sometimes… why it is so hard._

_I am… Anders._

_I am… an apostate, a run-away mage from the Circle of the Steppes._

_That dirty word people use to refer to mages unbound by the walls and Templars of a Circle of Magi. It is supposed to mean one who forsakes their religion. Most of us aren’t forsaking the Maker or Andraste, or even the Chant and the Chantry. We just want to live as free as everyone else. Apostate seems to be synonymous now with the word malificar or blood mage. Get a dictionary, people!_

_I am… a Grey Warden, a run-away for the blood I have spilled._

_I am Justice._

_I am… possessed by a spirit. I thought I did the right thing. He wasn’t a demon._

_I am Vengeance._

_My hate has twisted him. I have corrupted the world’s Justice. And now I cannot set him free. I cannot free myself. Maybe I am becoming an abomination. Sometimes I am so frightened._

_I am… I want to only be… a healer._

_I have this journal now to record my life, in case the worst should happen. Maybe someone one day will be trustworthy enough for me to share this with. Maybe one day, I will be able to trust someone enough with what has happened and they can free me… or have the compassion enough to end me. For now, I will try my best to suppress Justice. I can pretend to be my usual handsome and charming self. It can help me make distance. If I get far enough, maybe they will not find me. If I run fast enough, maybe I will have time to find a way to undo this, to make it right again. Maybe… maybe Kirkwall is far enough… Maybe if I hide long enough, I can make some measure of amends. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I am a healer!_

_I am a healer…_


	4. Entering Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Anders’ journal, written in Italics.  
> Fenris’ unwritten journal runs concurrently in bold.
> 
> Some of is will be recognized as game quotes, from Varric's narration of entering Kirkwall.

~ One year after the Fifth Blight, Dragon Age.

_Kirkwall at last. Kirkwall, the city of chains. Pardon while I shudder. Long ago, it was part of the Tevinter Imperium and full of slaves coming and going to work the many mines and quarries. But the valor of one elf ended the Imperium’s control. One elf, changed history._

**Now it is a free city. Free of the magisters’ grip… but the term is used very loosely. Slavers and slavery still lurk here in this corrupt place.**

_It is so corrupt, so full of injustice, that Justice wills me to stay. Justice, the spirit that I allowed to possess me. This city is full of slavers, corrupt Templars and a corrupt Chantry. Keeping him/me in check will be a challenge._

**The poor have it bad.**

_The refugees from Fereldan have it worse._

**The Gallows… now a place of mages best locked away as they ought to be.**

_The Gallows, now a place of mages, imprisoned like slaves._

**That is where my ship landed... with all the rest.**

_That is where my ship landed... with all the rest._

**This “Little Wolf” will disappear here until my master tries to come for me again.**

_This healer will try to disappear here, try to not lose myself to Justice, and try to not become Vengeance, if I can._

_Live… **Free**._

_Die… **Free**._

_**Kill** … if I have to._

**They say “magic is to serve man, not rule over him". And here, the mages are locked up where they belong, where they can’t hurt anyone.**

_I’d like to think I have a good sense of humor to go with my charm. It has gotten me through, or out of, a great many things. But I swear! If I hear that Chantry tripe one more time, Justice can have the head of whoever said it!_

**The Viscount here, even the guards, seems to answer to these Templars, to this Knight-Commander Meredith, head of the Templars. She almost seems to rule like a magister under some archon she calls the Chantry head whoever that is.**

_I’ll have to avoid them all if I can._

**Qunari… in Kirkwall. A storm caught their ship. Now they are stuck here. Apparently so am I now that I have explored some. Damned Kirkwall. Damned Hunters. I am running out of places to hide. One hunter let slip that Danarius is landing here soon, has some estate here. Go figure. There is nowhere to run to now. Guess it is time to fight. Turn like the Tigris and face fear. Danarius, if I survive your new hunters, then I am coming for you. Right here in your merchant home in Kirkwall.**

_Qunari landed here in Kirkwall, crashed more like. They have set up just outside the docks and are waiting to go home. I just got word of a friend who has also come to Kirkwall. Karl. Someone from my old Circle, another mage, older than I, and someone with whom I had been intimate to help make Circle life bearable. I wonder why he is here, why he got transferred. I will have to sneak through underground tunnel system and see if we can exchange news. Maybe I can help him escape. It has been so long since I have seen him, years and years. Maker knows, company would be good, real physical, living, human company. Not that I would turn up elven company, but Karl is not an elf._

_All this freedom,_   
_All these people,_   
_And yet I am so… alone._

**All this freedom,**  
All these people,  
And yet I am so… alone. 


	5. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris reads Anders journal aloud, pauses for a memory (written in italics), then continues reading.

~ Eight years after the Fifth Blight, Dragon Age. Present day on Athenril’s ship.

If he was going to keep his promise to Hawke, he had to find a way to come to terms with the mage. Fenris had known few Elven words, learning them mostly from Dalish people and thus from their dialect of Elven. He had encountered the Dalish on his missions with Brayden Hawke. _Shem_ and _Shemlan_ he learned before he met Hawke, from his journey to freedom and from the elves in Kirkwall’s Alienage. Some words he learned from Merrill on the very few occasions he was with her, and mostly it was Anders who translated for him. He wondered where Anders had learned to speak any of the Elven dialects so fluently. ‘Ma Serranus’ he learned from a Dalish Keeper on Sundermount. It meant ‘thank you’.

~~~

~ Eight months ago for Fenris, from his point of view. 

_Ma Serranus Merithari for teaching me these words, “There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept.” You might have been speaking with Hawke about his amulet from the dragon witch, but you looked at me with eyes that knew more than I was ready to understand. I made a promise to Hawke when he first helped me, a promise to watch the mages in our group. I did not know Anders then, not yet. I thought I was going to watch Hawke’s sister Bethany, but in the end, she didn’t need watching. It is because of her that I have any respect at all for mages as she had the clarity to explain things without anger getting in the way. Later I thought it would be Merrill I would need to watch. She is a blood mage. But she is young, child-like, and ignorant in many ways. As much as she grates on my every nerve, she means well. May Varric never know I thought those things.  Then I met Anders and knew he needed to be watch, too. How was I to watch them both? Thankfully, Hawke rarely brought Merrill with us. And when Hawke left, he took Merrill with him and left me behind. He left me behind to watch Anders. Bade me to keep my promise._

_“But why, Hawke? Why can’t I come with you? Did I do something to displease you?” I never thought such slavish pleading would come from my lips, but it did._

_The Circle, Chantry, Gallows had fallen. Anders had lost control and took off. Hawke had allowed him to live. Now, he was hiding somewhere in Darktown by the rumors. I was going to seek him out and end him, but Hawke would not permit it. They had been briefly lovers and Hawke could not bring himself to kill Anders. He swore to me that Anders was not an abomination; that he agreed with Anders about taking down the Templars. He swore that Anders deserved to live and needed help. Anders needed help all right. Justice wrought Vengeance beyond reckoning. Hawke and Anders had a final encounter where their relationship came to a crashing end when Hawke let Anders go saying he wished he could help, but didn’t think he could anymore. Anders had demanded they break it, on the premise that he was afraid he might hurt Hawke. It was a messy break up, more so than the private one I had with Hawke. And in that final battle, he had almost done so. If I had not been there to stop him… I had the strength and the ability to stop Anders, stop Justice. But then when I turned to deal with the next oncoming trouble, Anders was gone._

_“Because Fenris, I still care about him. But I am not strong enough to watch him. I can’t control him, calm him, or handle him. I wish I could. I know, you and I have had our moments and you wish we could be together now, but,” Hawke gripped the back of my neck and touched his brow to mine, “But I know how much you don’t want to share. And you cannot change me and I do not want to change you. You and Anders are the dearest people to me and I want more than anything for you both to be safe… to be free.”_

_“I’d be safe and free with you, Hawke.” I begged and hated myself for doing so, but I thought selfishly now that Anders was gone, that Hawke and I might have a chance, to maybe rekindle what we once shared. I knew though that we never really would. Hawke lived life promiscuously. I wanted to be able to give all of me to someone and have them give all of themselves back._

_“But Anders won’t be safe, and no… you and I know you are not free. Danarius still has a hold inside you.” Hawke spoke true; our last fight with Danarius was a near thing as he had reached right inside me and took control of my body forcibly. I almost killed Hawke. “I have to go, Fenris. I have to do this. For you both.”_

_I didn’t understand. Did he need space? Was it too painful to be this near Anders? Was I too overbearing with my intentions? Was he running away from us?_

_“I think I found a way to free you from the bonds inside you, and Anders from Justice.” I could not believe the words he spoke. A demon once offered me such chances and I fell for it like a weak-willed mage. “I am going into Tevinter with Merrill and Bethany. I have news of an ancient text that might help. It is a small chance.”_

_“Take it!” I insisted. Freedom… real freedom._

_“Don’t tell Anders when you find him.” Hawke knew that I would find him at some point. “I don’t want him to hope in case this is for naught. Either way, Bethany thinks that Anders might actually be able to free you anyways. Not in the state he is, but… one day. He is the best healer in the world, according to Bethany. The best. He could do things, even before he was possessed, he could do things that no other healers can. Given time, and the right stability…” Hawke knew I would not like that news. It meant I would have to let the abomination use magic not just on me but deep, deep inside me, as deep as Danarius had. And I didn’t trust Anders that much._

_“Hawke,” I began to protest._

_“Fenris, please. You made me a promise. I… I need you to keep it. I need to not worry about either of you while I do this mission. Stay safe. Keep him safe. Watch him. You are the only one who can. And remember, he is not an abomination. Justice is not that kind of spirit. Remember what Bethany told you. Fenris, can I trust you to do this?” He knew I could not enter Tevinter again. Danarius would seize me if I did._

_Merithari’s words flooded back to me, ‘There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept.’_

_“You have always been able to trust me. I will keep my promise. I will find him, watch him, and keep him safe.” I vowed as if to the Maker himself. Hawke was a champion after all, surely blessed by the very Maker. I raised my eyes to Hawke’s, hopeful, “Do you think he really can free me?”_

_“Yes,” he stated it without any doubt. He pressed his lips to my brow and stepped onto the boat with a final wave to our other companions, eyes scanning to see if Anders was there. He was not._

_I watched the boat sail. Once it was out of sight, I began my missions. I had to find Anders. I had a promise to keep._

~~~

~Present day on Athenril’s ship.

Fenris inched back on the bed a bit more so he could press into the other corner, arching his legs so Anders’ feet had room under my knees. The mage was still asleep. Fenris watched him a moment, waiting to see if he had a nightmare. They came often, at least once a night. The elf was never sure if the mage’s pleading, whimpering or cries of “NO” were directed at a demon or some memory or the darkspawn that forever plague those who walked the path of a Warden. Hawke had once told Fenris that the Templars did things to Anders, things that were unspeakable. He still had no idea what actually happened in Anders’ past to make him who he was now. Maybe he would find the answers in the mage’s journals.

He rubbed the cover of the soft leather then opened the book. “How I met Hawke and what tr-traaan sssp-spired… transpired be-tween us.” He read out loud for two reasons. The first was that it was easier and helped him work out the words. The second was that the sound of his voice seemed to keep Anders at ease.


	6. Fenris Meets Hawke

Fenris stoped reading and leaned his head back against the wall as he thought back to how he had met Hawke, because he met Hawke first and those first words read out loud tugged at his memories, pleasant memories indeed.

~ One year after the end of the Fifth Blight, Dragon Age. Or almost seven years ago. Written from Fenris’ pont of view as he flashes back in remembrance.

_I knew it was a trap the hunters set for me. I needed help dealing with them as there were just too many. Some hired swords, some criminals from one of the organizations in Kirkwall, and the Tevinter hunters all were plain too many for just me. I needed a distraction. I turned to someone who smuggled lyrium often and had connections. He promised to find me someone to do the job. I just didn’t realize he would find someone so competent and capable… and selfless. It shamed me and captivated me. Anso the dwarf hired Brayden Hawke and his friends to be that distraction._

_Down in the Alienage, the trap was sprung. Hawke, handled it smoothly, efficiently and bloodily. He and his small group did what I could not have hoped. He took care of not just being a distraction, but he eliminated everyone who was after me save for two. A lieutenant I killed on my way into the Alienage and the captain who dared, after seeing the carnage and realizing he had no backup, dared to call me a slave and try to seize me for Danarius. My hand phased partly in the fade with the aid of the lyrium in me, reached right into his chest, and ripped out his heart. Then after checking him, Hawke confirmed  by some note found on the body that Danarius was actually in the city at his estate._

_I politely, or as politely as possible, apologized for using Hawke as a distraction. He surprised me with his generosity and sympathy. He too held slavers with as much distaste as I did. They all deserved to die. He swore he would kill them with or without pay. And I had first thought him an opportunistic rogue? I humbled myself and asked for his help again to deal with Danarius, seeing the truth that I needed competent and trustworthy companions if I hoped to deal any truly deadly blows._

_I will not be taken back. I will not run. I will be free. I am NOT a slave!!_

_I should have guessed that the mansion was just another trap laid out for me. Danarius was not there. In Tevinter, he is a powerful mage, a magister, wealthy and with great influence with a great many slaves at his disposal to kill for their blood to do as he pleased. Here in Kirkwall, he would be greatly limited. But he… was not there. His mansion was long empty, a shell filled with ruined rooms and desiccated bodies. The traps released demons, shades and more. Alone, I would not have survived. Hawke gifted me with three things before entering. A blade far better than the one I had and enchanted to do terrible things to demons and the undead, a belt enchanted to increase the damage I dealt, and a ring that increased my health. I felt weird about the gifts from this albeit handsome rogue, but he brushed it off and reassured me it was for practical reasons. He wanted to ensure he did not get dead beside me. Fair enough. I liked him immediately for just that._

_With Hawke and his friends, we made short work of them all. He was impressive to fight beside. Willing to get right into the middle of it all. Light on his feet and deadly with his daggers. I thought he would be reckless, but he was not. He was efficient and careful. He always kept an eye back to the dwarf, Varric, with his crossbow and the girl, who was his sister and turned out to be a mage, Bethany. “Nicely done!” he called to me in one fight. Praise! I received genuine praise, from a human. I hungered for more of such praise. When it sank in that Danarius really was gone, I had to get out for some air and sort through the turmoil of my disappointment._

_Hawke met me outside. I leaned against the wall, staring at my bare toes. “It never ends,” I complained. “I escape a land of dark magic only to have it hunt me down at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul.” And yet I found myself in the presence of another mage, Bethany. I tried to warn Hawke of the dangers she posed. He of course defended her. And she was quick to remind me of her aid in the fight that I did not object to at the time. I am not blind. I know magic has its uses and that there are undoubtedly mages with good intentions. But vipers still lurk. Even the best intentioned mages can fall prey to temptation and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others. She rebuffed me. Told me I was free to leave if I wanted to._

_I must have seemed ungrateful. I apologized for nothing was farther from the truth. I gave over what coin I had for their troubles and still felt I owed them a debt I could not possibly repay adequately. How do you repay praise? How do you repay trust? He did not see me as a slave, nor treat me as one, even though I was an elf. He treated me like an equal. How do you repay that? He even thought me handsome, openly stating it!_

~~~

Fenris chuckled at the memory as he had back then.

~~~

_I offered to follow him, assist him in anything he may need my skills for. I explained my markings and what they meant I could do and why Danarius was after me… and that he would still be after me. I meant nothing to Danarius. He wanted the expensive investment of the lyrium that was in me, even if he had to rip it from my corpse. Hawke brushed the danger off. He was not about to hand me over without a fight._

_He offered his friendship with one condition. I would have to accept working alongside mages. I promised to watch them carefully, protect them and those in our group from them if need be. And so I began following Hawke on missions and sometimes just because. By the Maker! Hawke had a knack (_ still does _) of finding things… from traps to treasure to trouble! And when he trips something that calls down a mess of shades and demons, all he has to say is, “Oops.” It was maddening, and hilarious. I was doomed._

 _I knew I was more doomed when he visited me one evening in Danarius’ mansion. I had claimed it for my own. We sat drinking Danarius’ most expensive stock and I redecorated the walls with the smashed bottles. Maker that felt good! We talked, too. Got to know each other’s pasts a little. His interest was clear from the way his eyes drank me in to his bold declarations. He was so free with his thoughts and feelings. (_ Still is, with everyone. _) He suggested I make a home in Kirkwall. I envied his options in life to have a home, set down roots and have a family. Maybe I could though. Stand my ground here and wait for Danarius. I had tried to before and his hunters always came, forcing me to run. But now, I am not alone. I would never be alone in that fight again. Hawke’s interest in me encouraged me to try to flirt. I failed miserably at my very first attempt. He seemed pleased just the same and I vowed to practice more flattery. He then gave me a pendant full of power called “The Lost Memory” since he knew now that I had no memories of my early life, nothing before the time I received my markings. I did say I was doomed, didn’t I? Hopelessly doomed._

~~~

Fenris sighed at the memories and read on in Anders’ journal, curious how Anders thought of his own first encounter with Hawke.


	7. Anders Meets Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris struggles through reading Anders's journal about Anders' first encounter with Hawke. Fenris' thoughs are sprinkled liberally throughout in italics within brackets.

Fenris sighed at the memories and read on in Anders' journal, curious how Anders thought of his own first encounter with Hawke. The reading was slow, broken in moments of stumbling over some of the more lengthy or complicated words. He was grateful that Anders had unbelievably clear and beautiful penmanship.

"How I met Hawke and what transpired between us," Fenris repeated the sentence with confidence, now that he figured out the new words. He read onward softly so as not to wake Anders, wiggling his bare toes under the edge of the blanket to keep them warm. "I begin first with saying that I have lived in all sorts of places. My fa-vo-rite was the… ( _what the Void word is that?)_ eeeghat? Eeee ckhhh t?" ( _That sounded like a cat horking up a hairball.)_ He stumbled in annoyance before he remembered. "Eight!" He flinched as he had raised his voice in delight and Anders shuffled his feet a bit at the sound. "My favorite was the eight months I spent with a Dalish clan. ( _Well, that explains why you know Dalish so well. Though why they would take in a shemlan is beyond me._ ) The worst was the time I spent in the Circle of the Steppes outside Ander-fels." Neither of these two locations and statements had further explanation, no matter how much Fenris was curious. He took mental note to one day ask, adding it to a list of things to one day ask, maybe. He knew Anders was very fond of elven things and elven dancing. It was so rare to see him happy, really happy. ( _Not that I ever really cared before if he was happy_.) Getting Anders to talk about his time in the Circle meant wading through his fury or dealing with the shield of jokes he used to cover the truth of his experiences or facing Justice/Vengeance. ( _I will come back to these. I will understand. I promised_.) It never occurred to him that his promise to watch the mage was somehow evolving and expanding to the realm of understanding and trusting and being trusted. He liked being trusted. But Anders did not trust easily and every inch of trust with him felt very hard won.

Fenris read about Anders’ thoughts of Kirkwall's Darktown. "But this is pretty close to the worst, ker… cer-tain-ly the worst outside the Circle, ex-cept for the blood and gore of a bat- battle-field battlefield after the darkspawn. I could get lost, for-got-ten in the swill of this under-ground where to-toxic waste, sewage, and corpses spread in-fec-tion and disease among the poorest of the poor hiding here with the crime lords." ( _And Hawke had me walking barefoot in this!_ ) Fenris shuddered and had an urge to wash his feet. "Down here, no one cares who you are or what you do. Here, I try to help and heal." ( _I did not understand back then how selfless you were, did not believe it. You truly took nothing for your services, asked nothing, and often went hungry to feed those more in need._ ) Anders was an anomaly when it came to mages as far as Fenris was concerned. In his worldview, all mages craved power. Anders… did not.

Anders stretched his legs under Fenris' knees and started to pull them back till Fenris rested a hand on the retreating ankles. Anders stilled with a slight whimper then a sigh and drifted back to sleep. He never slept still for very long; Anders fidgeted a great deal in sleep, unless touched. Fenris was still not comfortable doing that much, certainly not with the mage awake. It was okay-ish when he was asleep though.

"It is here I try to creet… no… cre-ate a small beeee-bay… con… beacon… beacon of hope with a lit lantern. Here any-one can come for a moment of safety, quiet, clean water, and if their need is great, healing too. I protect the sick and wounded here from the Carta thugs, the Coterie crime lords, and all other manner of cri-min-als. And I watch for such dang… dange… dangers as the City Guard, Templars, and Grey Wardens. One day, I worry that Z-Zevran will show up from a shadow with a blade at my throat bidding me to return to the Wardens. Or someone will. They cannot have me! I will not go back!" ( _Who is Zevran? Should I be planning to kill him? If he tries to take you, I swear I will kill him. Oh right! He was the flirty ex-crow._ ) His fingers closed over Anders' ankle as if to tell him he will protect him, Anders was not going to be taken by anyone. Then he paused wondering where this fierce protective streak came from for a mage, this mage, this… possessed mage! Didn’t he hate mages? He snatched his hand back and turned the page.

"Hawke strode in with this air of con-fi-dence like everyone would simply just obey him because he was so pretty. ( _He was and they did._ ) He was, and they often did." Fenris chuckled low to see his thoughts echoed in Anders' journal. It amazed him to see such similarities between himself and the mage. "At the time th-though, he was just an in-tru-der who didn't need healing and wanted something from me. He was a risk and thus a danger. Justice th- three-tenned… threat-ened… threatened in my voice, ‘I have made this place a san… sanc-tum of healing and sal-va-tion! Why do you threaten it?!' I had yelled warningly, staff in hand. I had just finished healing a boy with broken ribs; I did not want to have to repeat it because of these intruders."

( _I remember that. I snarled at you and made ready to protect Hawke who didn't seem remotely concerned that you might turn him to ash with magic._ )

"Hawke was looking for a Grey Warden with a map to the Deep Roads. I warned him that I was not going back to them. They made me give up my cat, Ser-pounce-alot." Fenris frowned. This cat, and the very notion of cats, came up frequently with Anders, who liked the creatures a great deal. "It was the truth I was willing to tell Hawke at the time. I didn't know him or trust him with the deeper ree-a-sons… reee-sons… reasons. The bloody truths. He asked how it was possible to leave the Wardens. Well, you don't really get to leave. The 'hope-less-ly t-ta-innn-ted… tain-ted… hopelessly tainted by the Darkspawn' and the 'plagued by night-mares of the ar… arch-demons' parts don't go away. But if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties. I came to Kirkwall because there was no Warden Outpost, no darkspawn, a whole lot of refugees to blend in with, and a few reasons of my own."

_(I remember that you came to aid a friend, this Karl, a mage. Hawke joked lightly with you despite the seriousness of the topics. It must be a Fereldan thing. But you refused good gold sovereigns for that map. You don't do anything for money. You did however manipulate us into helping you. The map for Hawke's aid to rescue your friend Karl and make him an apostate like yourself. Just what we needed, more mages running around free to become dangers to society. Thankfully Hawke was wary about that too. I didn't understand then how the term apostate meant escaped slave. You kept trying to tell us. But all I could see were magisters in the making whenever the topic came up of freeing mages.)_

Fenris frowned again as he thought. Then it dawned on him why Anders would take such risks to face Templars in order to free Karl. ( _Karl was your lover once._ ) It was true that back then, before the destruction Anders wrought in Kirkwall, that the Templars were so corrupt as to turn the gallows into a prison, locking mages in the cells, torturing them and making them Tranquil for no reason at all. Fenris had been too angry and hateful of mages back then to have any sympathy or see them as suffering as he had in slavery. The more he saw and learned of these Circles, though, the more he wondered about them. Anders would never speak of what happened to him. ( _Or does he, twisting it into jests to make it as though it never happened to him?_ )

_Aveline and Anders were bantering behind Hawke’s back. The warrior guard woman readjusted her hold on her shield. I was sure she was going to bash Anders in the face with it when he asked her about her dead Templar husband. Then he asked her, “Did he ever ask you to play ‘the naughty mage and the helpless recruit?’ Maybe the ‘secret desire demon and the upstanding knight?” Did they ever ask you to play such sex games? Did you comply? Did they take you by force?_

Anders mumbled sleepily, "Your reading is improving. But you stopped." He stretched like a cat, his legs again under Fenris' knees before he realized it. He blinked his eyes open in surprise.

Before he could speak, Fenris rumbled out a request. "Tell me about Karl." The look Anders gave him made him wonder if maybe he should not be reading these journals after all, as if he invaded some unspoken privacy.

Anders sat up as far from Fenris on the bed as he could, realizing that the reading was from his private journals and the question, touched hard on a sensitive nerve. After a long moment of patient silence, Anders decided to share with Fenris what he had shared with Hawke. "Karl was in the Circle with me, long long ago. He was my… first friend, my first lover. He helped make things in the Circle bearable." But that was as far as he was comfortable sharing. He climbed from the bed and found the plate of food Fenris had brought to share with him. He picked the remaining food from it as he sat on the trunk. "I should just fry this hammock to ash and get it out of the way." He batted it occasionally while he ate.

Fenris knew he would get no more on the touchy subject. He handed the journal back to Anders.

Anders did not take it. "No, you can keep reading them. I… don't mind. Besides, you need something to practice with that is not a mess of chicken scratch." It was what Anders often critically called other transcriptions of texts. He was right, many were written poorly and were difficult to read compared to Anders’ own writing.

Now he had his formal permission. Fenris would continue to read them but later. He was tired and Anders was now awake. He took over the warm spot Anders vacated. "Wake me in four hours."

Anders chuckled, "You are so like a cat! You even follow the two second rule! I was up from the bed for two seconds and already you are claiming the warm spot." He chuckled again lightly. More seriously, he said, "I'll try to wake you in four hours. I don't have a method of keeping time on this ship, though."

"Do your best, please."

Anders agreed and left the small room to see if he could be useful on deck for a few hours.

 


	8. Of Healing and Hate

Anders stretched this way and that, joints cracking, as he heading to the deck. It was a good sleep he had, more than an hour he was sure. Ahhh… Solid sleep. It will be good to get more, like a full night would be bliss! He stood on the deck inhaling the cool night air off the sea. Athenril was as good as her word when she said she would ensure they earned their travel and looked like recruited sailors. All through the first day out from Kirkwall, they were hauling something, pulling ropes, or moving things he had no names for. The labour was purely physical. In a way, a relief and a great way to work out some of the building tension that he and Fenris had.

Even now, he was not idle long on the deck. The evening deck master had him coiling rope and taught him knots to secure the lines. He enjoyed learning new things, especially from people who were not afraid of him. But then, these people didn’t seem to really know he was a possessed apostate, just a plain hunted apostate. The physical work allowed his mind to wonder.

The past eight or nine months were nothing short of horrific and bizarre and confusing. Hawke had left Kirkwall. Left him and left Kirkwall. Anders was not there to see him leave, barely even knew he had planned to leave as he had avoided everyone since the destruction of the Circle, since he had lost control, seriously lost control. There were few times he had wished he could die and even tried to help that along. Hawke had stopped him the first time. Justice prevented any further active attempts. But he could neglect himself into death and had tried hard to do just that. Then Fenris found him. Hawke left and bade his wolf to keep watch on him. Truth be told, Anders had pushed Hawke away. He knew he was getting out of hand, harder and harder to hold Justice back from overpowering him and becoming Vengence. He didn’t want Hawke hurt. In the end, it was Fenris who had yanked him back to reality in the mess of “The Fall” as Kirkwallers called it. He didn’t even know how Fenris did it.

Even now, despite the eight months, several years of mistrust and near hate for each other lingered and they degenerated into a fight, usually just a verbal one where they threw the most venomous words at each other, the ones they knew cut deep. The stretches between fights grew longer though. And on occasion, like tonight, Fenris would do something almost out of character, like sitting on the bed while Anders was still in it. He didn’t understand. And whenever he questioned the brooding elf, Fenris would only reply, “I made a promise and I mean to keep it.” Often that alone spurred another verbal battle. Anders would accuse Fenris of trying to be a Templar slave master to feel what it is like to be the one in power.

“Andraste’s knickerweasels,” cursed Anders as his thoughts had distracted him enough that he made a mess of the knot and could not undo it to correct it. He sighed. They had come close to a fight this evening. He took several breaths to calm his mind and undid the knot to redo it. He concentrated on the task at hand and then carried the heavy coils of rope to where he was directed. Maybe after a week of this, he would build some of the muscle mass he had lost. He tried to remember how Fenris found him and how Fenris convinced him to live again. It was still muddled. The quiet of the night and the sea allowed him to sort it out though, and no one bothered him as he did.

**~~ Eight months ago. Third Person POV flashback**

_He ran, ran from all he had called friend. Ran into the depths to be forgotten. Anders had lost himself in Darktown. It was easy to do. The City Guard rarely ventured there, even with Aveline as Captain. The criminal elements flourished along with the filth and ichor. Anders could not even bring himself to heal those in need around him. He avoided every living soul as best he could. He broke his mage staff to prevent himself from turning to it in a fight should one break out. He hated himself and Justice, but himself more. Staring occasionally at his hands that had dealt so much death, he no longer thought he could heal, no longer thought he deserved the talent._

_Fenris found him in a small alcove, curled on a tattered blanket waiting to starve to death. “Pathetic,” growled the elf. Fenris had been searching at Hawke’s behest for over a week. He was disgusted at having to walk yet again barefoot in the muck of the undercity. “Get up, abomination.” When Anders refused to answer, he dragged Anders to his feet. “Is the demon in you eating away at you?”_

_Anders could not meet Fenris’ eyes. But he remembered that Fenris had stopped Vengeance, had stopped Anders, nearly ripping out his heart. Yes, that was how it had happened, how Fenris stopped the spirit. Anders remembered just vaguely. “Have you come to finish me?” the mage asked weakly. “Please? Will you?”_

_“No,” he simply replied. “You will live with what you did.”_

_Justice rose up instantly to give Anders the strength to throw Fenris off. “I will not go back! I will not be chained! Leave him alone!! DON’T TOUCH HIM!!”_

_Fenris had been thrown into the air and like a cat, neatly landed on his feet, lyrium shimmering to glow over his body._

_It was a hard fight, but Anders did not have the strength, even with Justice, to keep it up. He did, however, know the undercity far better than Fenris did, and managed to slip away and hide for another few days._

_Fenris found him again. He dragged him out to the place where Anders used to do healing and forced him to look upon the needy. “I can’t… I can’t… I can’t!” He dashed into the back room out of sight of all those pleading eyes._

_Fenris lurked ever nearby. He slipped away occasionally to get coin, or food. Sometimes to speak with Varric at the Hanged Man, or Isabella, to help him find supplies to rebuild some of the healing facility in Darktown. He had no idea how to heal people, but he knew certain basics. Shock needed warm blankets and a certain potion and time in a safe place. Wounds needed to be washed in clean water with actual soap. He boldly lit the lantern and shoved a plate of food into Anders’ hands. “Eat and heal people. I think I have already killed three trying to do it myself.” He would then slink away again to be out of sight. He hated the mage and the magic, despite Bethany’s calm rational discussions. The magic always tugged oddly in his markings. Mostly he hated when magic was unchecked and at serious risk of being a danger or in the hands of someone who would abuse it and become another magister, become another Danarius. He stayed out of Anders way and sight as much as possible._

_Slowly Anders came out of the room and tended to basic needs for himself and little by little for others. Then when Anders was strong enough, he vanished. Fenris cursed and shook every single living soul in Darktown trying to find him. They thought maybe he was going to drag Anders to the Templars that were arriving from Orlais and Fereldan to clean up the Gallows and rebuild. He tried to explain that he was trying to protect Anders. Snarling curses about Anders, the abomination, did not encourage anyone’s trust down there._

_He did note that Anders must be helping the people again at least a little, maybe from a different location. Fool! The original location was defensible. It was protected some by Aveline’s orders. He saw a bandaged arm on one child and a splinted leg of an old man begging in an alley. Anders could be drawn out if the healing need was great enough. Fenris remembered that. Anders had too much soft compassion in him when he was not controlled by Justice. He could not NOT heal someone in great need. That thought hatched a plan._

_He pulled a small knife out and considered stabbing someone. No, that would not earn Anders’ trust. So he drew the edge over a patch of skin on his arm that was not tattooed. He hissed and watched the blood rise and drip to the ground. That hurt more than he had anticipated. Not in the heat of battle, a cut was felt in all its glorious sliciness. Perhaps this was not such a good plan, he had thought to himself as he stood in one of the filthiest parts of Darktown. He still didn’t really know where Anders was. He tried to plead with people to direct him to Anders for healing. This earned him some sympathy and one woman shyly pointed the way. He kept his other hand over the wound to reduce his bleeding. Yes, this was definitely one of his stupidest plans. Hawke would have had a much better one._

_In that very same direction, Fenris heard strong forceful voices. Other people seeking ‘The Apostate’, sometimes calling him ‘The Abomination’. Templars. They were close to where the woman said Anders likely was. With a yell, Fenris called up the lyrium and dove into battle mode to deal with these Templars and redirect them from their search. If anyone is going to kill the blighted mage it will be Fenris! He was as possessive of his loves as he was about his hates. He was so used to charging in the front of a battle with Hawke at his side and Varric’s crossbow bolts providing covering fire that this fight was not well thought out. There were too many. He had no backup. He fought and darted away a little, fought and darted away, luring them. He picked them off bit by bit as he did. Then two more came up behind him. He narrowly dodged getting skewered and gutted, but still was deeply cut as a sword bit into his skin on the left of his abdomen across the lyrium pattern, breaking the neat flow. In a last roar of fury, he ripped into them. He turned and staggered and turned again. No more chased him. He counted them. They were all dead. He listened, not hearing the sound of plate mail boots running for help. He sagged against the slimy railing and clutched at the gut wound with a grimace._

_In his haste to lead the Templars away, he lost track of where he was and how to get back. Stupid convoluted underground. Following a blood trail was useless. The scavengers of Darktown already stole the bodies away to steal gear and money and drop the carcasses into the sewage system to rot and disappear forever without a trace. Blood mixed with the rest of the filth and could not be discriminated from it. Fenris staggered along, knowing that he was in bad shape. He stumbled against a wall and sank to the ground, dizzy. He had never hoped to see the mage more than right now. The scavengers were already creeping close, waiting to see if he died so they could pick his body clean too._

_Someone pulled him to his feet and helped him through the twisting tunnels. Eventually he found himself on a hard bed in a small room, having blacked out several times. “I should let you die,” muttered an all too familiar voice full of anger and hate. “But Hawke valued you for some reason that had to be more than just being a wretched pain in my ass.”_

_Fenris struggled, “No… no magic… no!” panic in the edges of his words._

_Anders paused. “Fenris, I… fine. But this will not be pleasant.” He washed the wounds while Fenris gritted his teeth. “What in the name of the Deep Roads were you doing?”_

_“Trying to find you. Trying to… protect you. There were Templars, too many of them. I killed them, but…” he grimaced in pain and tried to claw Anders only to discover he had been stripped of armor and weapons._

_“If you kill me now, then you will die.”_

_Fenris let his hand drop and tried to be still so Anders could work. Cleaning the wounds took a long time, more than an hour. Treating the infection from the filth of the area longer still. The lyrium came to life and coursed through Fenris’ body at the four hour mark. He cried out in pain as the lyrium burn seared inside him and locked up where the markings had been cut. It was foolish of him to allow himself to be cut. His master had punished him like this once to teach him this lesson._

_Anders observed with growing concern. Fenris was at least correct that Anders’ compassion would outweigh his anger and his desire to die. So much pain in ways that made Anders feel helpless. The lyrium coursed through the markings again before the mage’s eyes._

_When the pale blue dimmed, Fenris gripped Ander’s arm. “I need to use magic, Fenris,” Anders answered those pleading eyes. Fenris nodded. A gentle green glow curled around the mage’s fingers and seeped into Fenris’ flesh. It too was familiar. Anders had healed him often enough in the battles they fought together on Hawke’s missions. But the magic was not adequate enough for this wound in the lyrium. “I have healed what I can,” Anders explained exhausted. “I… don’t know how to heal this, what your Danarius did to you.” It was just too awful to watch Fenris suffer, even though he had often wished it. Deep down, he didn’t actually wish Fenris harm. “I have an idea. If I can get pure lyrium and put it in the wound to be a bridge in the pattern, I might be able to heal the flesh and your body might do the rest. Will you let me try?”_

_That Anders explained what he was going to do without diving in, that he asked permission, was the only reason Fenris agreed. Okay, not the only reason. He could not bear to endure Danarius’ punishment anymore. He had to tough it out for yet another hour though till lyrium could be procured._

_Anders apologized as he physically pushed in the rough grains of lyrium and fused the skin with healing magic. When the lyrium coursed through Fenris’ body again at the next four hour mark of him being still, it flowed over the small bridge painfully, but smoothly. Fenris passed out by then._

_Anders sighed softly. “We have hated each other so much for so long. I am tired of hating. It has twisted me into something I am not. Thank you, for… stopping me from hurting the people I cared about. And thank you, even though I was nug-shit to you, thank you for dragging me out and making me see the needs of the people. Forcing me to remember what I am, a healer. But seriously… you did not have to practically die to find me! I’m flattered, but it was stupid.” Anders wondered if Fenris still hated him as much, and wondered why Fenris was protecting him at all._

_Anders sat on a block by the bed and crossed his arms on the bed’s edge. He would watch over his patient through the night for any ill effects to the healing and experimental treatment. Like clockwork, the lyrium burned through Fenris and Anders concluded that this was why Fenris never slept for more than four hours at a time. It would be something he would remember. But he could not wake Fenris. He had to just wait this out, wait to see if Fenris’ body took to all the healing. He put his head down on his arms to rest and fell fast asleep._

_Many hours later, Fenris opened his eyes feeling like he was thrown from the highest tower in Minrathous. He mentally took stock of his predicament and state of health. ‘I found you. Or you found me… and you are healing again. Thank the Maker. Hawke, I found him. And I am not dead,’ Fenris thought to himself.  With silent movement, he slowly lifted his arm and inspected with long fingers where he had practically been stabbed. Strength flowed back into him as he tested the lyrium. “Anders?” he whispered, not trusting his voice yet. Anders mumbled but did not wake. For the first time in all the years he had known Anders, he touched him. Touched just his hair. It was as soft and fine as feathers. He rested his hand a moment on Anders’ shoulder. As Anders stirred awake he removed his hand. Only then did Fenris realize something, “I am naked!”_

_“Yes, you are.”_

_“Why?!”_

_“Because you were a bloody mess, literally, and I needed to heal you.”_

_In moments they were arguing and Anders threw clothing and armor at Fenris whose ears burned as he dressed awkwardly, spitting cursed in Tiventer at Anders._

**~~ Present day on Athenril’s ship with thoughts in italics.**

_Oh of hate and healing_ , mused Anders. He heard the pip whistle that marked the time, grateful that the sailor blew it every hour, and headed down to wake Fenris so he would not suffer lyrium burn as his wake-up call.

 


	9. Flipping Through the Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texts in italics are thoughts and/or memories.

But somehow, Anders' timing was off. Pale lyrium blue light shimmered in their small room as the elven figure on the bed contorted and growled in pain. “You…were… supposed… to… wake… me…” Fenris wound never again trust Anders on this matter. He would have to find his routine again and wake on his own.

Anders grabbed hold of the sweating elf and pulled him from the bed and onto his feet, rubbing him down vigorously to try to get the initial searing pain to fade faster. “I’m sorry. I tried to time myself with the boat pips.”

It was just too much, too much contact, too much invasion. TOO MUCH! Fenris roared and shoved Anders up against the closed door. “DON’T TOUCH ME, APOSTATE!”

Anders raised his hands defensively and waited. His heart pounded in the raging fury that practically vibrated in the room. ( _And he says **I** am dangerous.)_ Anders cringed and prayed the elf did not phase his hand into the Fade and then into his chest to rip out his heart.

Fenris took a step back and sat on the bed, panting, recovering. He shook out one hand, then the other before standing and moving the lyrium through his body at will. This was Danarius gift and curse. This was Danarius’ way of making sure his pet never over slept.

“You know, you will one day have to get used to being touched or you will remain a virgin forever and never have any sex.”

Fenris glared at him, “Who says I have not already?” Not that it really mattered. Not that it was Anders’ business. Isabela seemed to know that Fenris and Hawke fucked one night in their failed attempt at a relationship.

“Have you?” Anders asked with mild amusement.

The elf coughed and turned away. His ears always blushed before any other part of him. It was one of the things Anders liked so much about elves. Like cats and their tails, elven ears always gave them away.

“Two second rule!” cheered Anders who dove for the bed and rolled up in the blanket. “Oh, you might uh… want to skip a few pages in my journal. You don’t really need to read mushy stuff about Karl or mushy stuff between me and Hawke… and I… don’t really want to rehear any of it.” Anders didn’t quite remember all of what he had written way back then, but he knew Karl and Hawke stuff was due after what Fenris had read aloud.

Fenris swiped the journal and stormed from the little room. This is going to be a LONG couple weeks of sailing to Fereldan. It would normally be a short few days, but this ship took a route that generally avoided attention. He grumbled and growled all the way till he found a nook between a couple crates to sit and ignore the crew. He wanted more sleep, preferably not broken by blue fire coursing along the branded patterns. He opened the journal to read the pages he was told to skip, just to spite Anders.

He read slowly and not so out loud, more of a mumbled whisper to himself. Bethany was right. Slavery by whatever name was wrong… but he still thought mages should have some kind of keeper. Free mages, unchecked and unguarded meant no one is there to keep the demons at bay or deal with the mage who does give in to them. He was reading about Karl, and Anders’ plans to free him with Hawke’s help. What he had not expected was the intensity of the emotions on the following pages about Karl. When he had asked about Karl earlier this evening, he received a short response. Here he got much more detail of the fear and anxiety in the Circle. And yet Anders writes nothing of what exactly causes the fear except saying it was the Templars. He learned exactly what the relationship Anders had with Karl. It wasn’t really love. They were lovers out of comfort or to change the meaning of some experiences, also not described. It left Fenris with many questions that he suspected the answers to and wasn’t sure he wanted to know them.

Karl’s death, while it was the right thing to do, hit Anders very hard. More that his friend was made Tranquil than for being the blade to end his life. Or maybe the other way around. Both impacted Anders hard, harder than Anders ever let on outwardly. The process of being made Tranquil were detailed on the pages as if Anders wanted to taste the horror of it, to remember it so he could prevent it from ever happening again. “Tran… tranquil-ity. This is a pro-ceeee-dure procedure that Templars can perform without magic. By the use of the lyrium within them, and by forcing a mage to ingest the pure lyrium dust, and having it burned with the brand of the Chantry into their third eye ( _what third eye?),_ thus do they make a mage Tranquil. The lyrium in the Templar dampens the magic around them. The sh-sh-shackles they bind the mage with are dwarven-made with runes that pre-vent the use of magic, the effects linger after re-mo-val for a time. Then they make the mage eat and inhale the toxic lyrium dust mixed with a potion called magebane. There is about an hour of pure screaming agony and madness. ( _I know what that is like all too well_.) Then the dust is melted onto the iron brand and the brow of the mage is marked. The heat and lyrium seep into the brain causing irr-irrep-par-able… irreparable damage. Their screams echo off the walls till they pass out. Death would be kinder. The mage is for-ever cut off from the Fade, from dreams, from e-mo-tions and any kind of feelings or sensations at all. They cease to be able to think for them-selves, becoming a puppet to the one who made them Tranquil. Many of their me-mo-ries are er-a-di-cated... eradicated. They are stripped of free will and serve like slaves at the whim of the Chantry and Templars. All they are cap-a-ble… cabable of doing are en-chant-ments or men… meen… menial tasks. They barely exist. It is not living at all. I would rather die. If this hap-pens to me, I pray a friend is strong enough and com-passion-ate… compassionate enough to kill me as I killed Karl.” Fenris vowed that he would do this if it happens to Anders under his watch, but then, he doubted it would ever happen under his watch. Too many people would die trying.

Fenris stopped reading and just sat thinking on this. When he was there for this event, all he could think of was Danarius and how at least Tevinter mages truly deserved to be made Tranquil, that if most mages were made thus then the world would be a better place. But thinking now, years from that event as his experiences with mages have been so varied from those with his master, his comfort with this Tranquility could only be reserved for those who deserved it as a true punishment for horrible crimes against the living, like Danarius still. But to do this to anyone not deserving of it…. Well, he knew what it was like to go through that kind of pain. He knew all too well what it was like to be stripped of your free will, forced to be a puppet. Power like this in the hands of non-mages would only make the other extreme just as horrific. Could a Templar do that to any human or elf or dwarf? Have they dared try, so as to make a whole population of mindless minions? Is that simply the next step? What makes them any better than the magisters in Tevinter? Why does Anders know the procedure in so much detail? Did they make him watch as they turned mages Tranquil? Did they force him to help? Is this partly why he raged against them and fought to free mages from the control of Templars? It made sense. Years ago, while Fenris’ own anger at mages was still too fresh, this would not and did not make sense. Sometimes, he still hated the magic, especially if it came in contact with him unexpectedly. Now he understood some things more and wished he had read this, perhaps a couple years ago, or even a few months ago.

Anders’ did not write in the journal much for weeks after that entry, with only a line or two mentioning Karl and how much he missed him or how he could not stop seeing the brand of Tranquility on his friend’s brow or feeling his blade sink into Karl. Anders mourned with his whole heart. Fenris wondered if he would mourn the loss of any of his own friends and if any would mourn with so much feeling for him. He wondered if Anders would weep for him as Anders clearly wept for Karl.

_(And when I had learned that the glowing and power that flowed from Anders was because he was possessed, I thought Hawke was crazy for still accepting Anders into our group. Hawke even flirted with Anders. FOOL! I told him so. But all he said to me was, “Trust me as I trust you. Great things can come of trust, such as great healing. People can do amazing wonderful things if only you give them trust and the chance to prove themselves. I can trust you, can I not?” Of course I humbled myself and said yes. I wanted his friendship and his trust like a parched man in the desert needed water. And if he was going to give me that kind of trust and chance, then he had to equally offer it to Anders. Hawke saw in each of us so much possibility, inspired us to be more than we were and that our dreams honestly could become reality. So I also accepted, with much resistance, but still accepted, the possessed apostate into the group and vowed to really watch him. Half the time I hated him. He was practically an abomination. It did not help that Anders and Hawke flirted so easily with one another after Anders recovered from his grief, and after Hawke lost his mother. Anders vied for Hawke’s affection and I think I was jealous. No, I know I was jealous, resentful that I could not flatter and flirt as easily.)_

Fenris almost regretted reading the next few pages. “Hawke took it well, the whole pos-sessed thing. I ex-plained it all to him as best I can, even with the mess-i-ness and the deaths. It scares me sometimes, all the time, how Justice takes over when I have lost control around Templars. I have no memories of what I have done and only see after the blood-bath he has w- rrrr-ought wrought in the name of Justice, but really as Vengeance. Hawke still accepted me and returned flirtations as if this part of me was still ok. He understood Justice was not a demon. Unlike Fenris, who wishes me dead with his every breath, his hand stayed from ripping my heart out only because of Hawke. And, Hawke had an ease about him that had no fear of what shared my body and mind. This helped me keep in check better than anything ever had to date. Hawke was really the best thing that had ever happened to me. I have never known such comfort, strength, or stability, not even with Karl. I have always believed people fall in love with a whole person, not just a body. And I had refused to risk falling in love because of what I am. Mages are not permitted these things, not permitted to have husbands, wives, or children. Hawke made me feel loved, loved for all of me.” Fenris wanted to gag. Anders was right about the sickening mushiness.

_(Oh Anders, you fool. While Hawke loves all his friends, he is all about the body and fucked anyone willing and still does. He would never devote himself to any one person. You were as doomed as I. You totally fell for his charisma, his joy of life and living, his way of seeing the good in people, his easy affection, the trust he invested, and the care he gave to all in his group. It was not exclusive to you. And you, because of who and what you are, really need someone who can be exclusive. This is why he has failed to be what you need and why you lost control in front of him. Maybe if he had been able to commit wholly to you, things would have been different. But that is not who he is. I know. It has hurt me a great deal to understand that and accept it. I had hoped with you out of his life, I could take that place. But he turned me down.)_

Light had started to stream gently through cracks in the boards above and around doors. It must be morning. He heard the pip whistle again being blown but faintly. He made mental note of it so he could time himself for sleep and get back to a routine that did not end up waking him as he had hours ago. He carefully walked back to the tiny room, like a cat on silent feet. Anders was still asleep on the bed, tangled in the blankets from his dreams or nightmares. “Mage. Mage! Get up.” Anders frowned. “Mage!” Anders started awake. 

Groggily, Anders rose and dragged himself out of the room. Fenris waited for more than two seconds this time, just because. Then once Anders was gone, he stashed the journal away and climbed into the bed seeking the warmth of the place Anders had slept. With a great sigh and drifted to sleep.

Anders did wake him at the fourth pip and the two started a sea routine like this. Fenris would stay up through the night while Anders slept, and would sleep through the morning while Anders was awake. They learned to work the menial tasks on the ship over the days, earning their travel. Being among elves who did not behave meekly was exhilarating for Fenris. Athenril tried to coax him to consider staying on once they got to Fereldan. It was the mage after all that needed to hide. Fenris turned her down. He had a promise to keep.

“Nothing is stronger than a promise kept,” she shrugged. Fenris agreed realizing this was perhaps an Elven phrase that all elves, except those in the slave pens of Tevinter, learned as part of their moral upbringing.

The peaceful routine was broken several times by arguments of differing opinions on one thing or another between him and Anders, usually from things read in Anders’ journals. Fenris had to remind himself why he was doing this and not simply throwing the mage overboard to drown. He also wondered why Anders still allowed him to keep reading these collections of private experiences. In the gaps, he thought about the last eight months from the time he found Anders, especially the last six while Anders lived with him, till the time they fled Kirkwall onto this ship.

 


	10. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By now, you know the drill... and so do they.

Fenris worried some about what their destination ought to be and how Hawke will find them later whenever Hawke was done with his mission. He tried to keep focused on the reading and felt remarkably proud of himself for doing so despite the occasional moments where the words were very difficult or the things he read were awkward to relive.

“I was greatly awed by him ( _Hawke… me too_ ) as I was by the Warden… THE Warden, hero of Fereldan. I had wished then that he would have been less in-vol-ved involved in Al-is-tair, who thankfully now has the sexiest prettiest blond woman with well nevermind she is very beddable,  or in Zevran.” ( _who, who and who? That Zevran again. Wait… what woman? So Anders likes women too? Great, he stalks both fields like Hawke. Grrr… that should not bother me. Why does this bother me?! So what if he stalks both fields. Like I care!_ )

Fenris grumbled and kept reading. “I promised my aid along with my map. I am not really a fighter. Certainly not a battle mage like Bethany. I am a healer with a good deal of de-fen-sive and boosting magical knowledge. I can buff and I can shy-sheee… shield. But I did learn to handle myself while with the Wardens. The staff training was hard, ( _ah! So he learned to use that staff as a physical weapon and not just a magical one. That explains the twirling._ ) and reminded me of my father’s training when he wanted me to be like other Anders boys. Being an Anders boy meant you had two options in life: Priest of Andraste or Warrior… or Templar if you wanted to walk both paths. I was far too ir-rev-rev… irrev,” Fenris stumbled till Anders supplied the new words, “Ir-re-ver-ent and mis-chie-vous… Irreverent and michievous. The Priests called me hopeless ( _you are_ ) and thought I was possessed by a demon ( _you sort of are_ ) who liked to poke fun at all things holy or not. ( _Okay, not quite like that. You did?_ ) I just thought those priests were too stuffy and needed to learn to live a little! And by the Maker… ce-li-bate… celibate?! I was having none of that, certainly not after that roll in the hay with the milk maid’s daughter when I was eleven.”

Fenris choked out to Anders, “You did what?! At eleven?!” 

“I was a curious boy?” shrugged Anders innocently. “I wanted to know everything about all the functions of the human body.” Anders grinned hugely with only the barest hint of sheepishness.

Fenris shook his head as Anders wandered out to get the lunch meal. He didn’t think this would be as interesting as it was, but it was. Anders never spoke of his childhood or his family. Literally, never. Nor did he really speak much of his time in the Circle beyond that it was awful and mages ought to be free, yadda yadda yadda. So Fenris continued reading with curiosity, “When I could not remotely be convinced to be a priest or the priests refused to take me, I can’t remember which, my father dragged me off to teach me fighting. I was horrible. I couldn’t shoot a bow for my life. He put a sword in my hand and I kept fumbling it. He’d hit me and I would cry and run and hide. He made me hack a rabbit he had tied down that was squirming for its life and I wept for days, more for the rabbit than the beatings he gave me as punishment for my ‘girlish’ behaviour.”  Fenris frowned. ( _Girlish? Why should compassion be restricted to girls?_ ) Fenris didn’t have many memories of his family, but the tiny snippets he did have were of a loving mother, though a slave, who offered what gentleness she could. Even the values of family and tenderness for children were reinforced by how Hawke’s family behaved and how Hawke treated people, along with all Fenris witnessed in the Alienage and other places. Parents loved and cared for their children, not beat them for things they were simply not good at. ( _What twisted family did Anders come from?_ ) He read onward, “Those quarter staff skills I learned among the Wardens would sure have been helpful when I was younger and would have made my earlier escape attempts from the Circle more successful.”

Anders returned with food to be startled by a question. “How many times did you escape from the Circle? And why didn’t they just make you Tranquil the first time?”

“Hmmm… I think I tried dozens of times to escape and that was just in the first year I was there. First Enchanter Irving called me a reckless scamp.” Anders chuckled lightly. It was the first positive thing about the Circle Fenris heard from Anders. “But only really managed to get away seven times. First Enchanter Irving convinced them that I was only playful, and meant no real harm by it. He had told them that my easy temper and my humor assured that I was no real threat. That was for the first few real successful escapes that got me oh… maybe a few hours from the compound where I tore off my robes and danced and sang naked in the field under the moon.”

Fenris frowned at the term compound, like a slave compound. He thought all Circle of Magi were called Circles, except for the Gallows of Kirkwall. “And the other times?”

“They were after my Harrowing, so they knew I was not demon possessed. And I was too useful to be made Tranquil. And I refused to actually fight or turn to blood magic, so I wasn’t exactly hard to catch after.”

Fenris recalled what he had just read about the rabbit and how much Anders devoted himself to healing. It made sense. “Useful?” he asked for clarification. ( _Like a tool kind of useful? Do the ones no longer useful end up Tranquil?_ ) It all smacked again like slavery and disturbed Fenris with its repeated similarities.

Anders wasn’t accustomed to so much out of Fenris or of Fenris being so keen to learn about his past, so he tiptoed into the conversation. “I was excellent at making potions, better than anyone, and well, adept at healing even back then. My first real escape was when I was thirteen. I managed a couple more after that and got off easy, with only being… locked in… isolation.” Anders quieted as he sat on the bed and set the food between them. “They punished me for the other attempts or punished others in my place and bade me watch to know it was my fault.” He poked the food but did not eat. “They did other stuff to me when I did manage to get away. Enough that I didn’t try again for many years. When I started trying again, they forced me to help them make mages Tranquil and then punished me anyways. The last attempt, I swore I would not go back no matter what, that I would rather die. It almost killed me, they almost killed me. I leapt off a cliff and somehow… survived. The Dalish in the area found me and their Keeper took me in and kept me hidden and safe for a time. About eight months.”

Fenris wanted to ask about the punishment, but he saw Anders’ hands shake till Anders moved to the topic of the Dalish. Anders covered his anxiety as he always did with a smile and light-hearted comments. “That’s where I learned to dance! The Anders Spicy Shimmy! And no, in case you are wondering, no one has seen me do that dance, not really, not properly. And by Andraste’s flaming… you know… The few who have seen bits I did in the Hanged Man must have told people in the Blooming Rose, because every time we went in there with Hawke, someone tried to hire me! UGH!”

Fenris ate and thought and digested what he just learned about the mage he was charged to watch. Getting down to the truth was always hard. You had to dig through these layers of humor or sarcastic quips. Fenris turned the page and read on as he ate, “Hawke gave me a place, a group I could belong to. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere or with anyone before.” ( _Same here_.) But now the group was all split up. There was no group. There was nowhere and no one to belong with or to. It made for much floundering. Fenris needed purpose and despite everything, Fenris was grateful for the task asked of him. Hawke found a purpose he was good at and could devote himself to.

Fenris spent some of the afternoon on the deck working among the rigging. A fog caused moisture to soak his clothing but he didn’t mind too much, except for the chilliness. He liked the strange activity of climbing and manipulating the fabrics. He had good reach, better than most of the crew with his long legs and arms and his lyrium enhanced strength. Humans were usually taller that the average elf. Anders was taller than the average human. And Fenris could almost stand eye to eye with Anders, making him very odd and tall for an elf. When Anders hunched, which he often did, seeming to try to be less tall, then Fenris did stand eye to eye with him. If Fenris glanced down, he would see Anders watching him. He wondered if the mage had healing spells or maybe some magical feather spell to use if he fell. Fenris knew he would not fall. But Anders' eyes on him made his skin crawl awkwardly.

Athenril stood beside Anders, “He is very good up there. I would love to keep him on when we let you off in Fereldan.”

Anders scowled, “Ask him. He is not mine, I don’t own him.” There was unexpected irritation in his voice.

“I did.” Anders turned to look at her, surprised and opened his mouth to ask what the answer was but could not find his voice. She answered anyways, “He said no.” Anders let out the breath he had unknowingly been holding. “He said he was committed to you.”

Ander shot a look back at Fenris. ( _Committed?_ ) He blushed. “He’s been… protecting me. He is always free to choose. I didn’t hire him. I didn’t ask him to guard me. He just… does. For some promise he made someone else.” The emotions jumbled up inside Anders as he watched the elf in the rigging.

“Oh, well, if you want to be free of him, like I said, we’d happily take him on… We could tie him up, let you off in Fereldan and sail away. Then ta-da! You are free of your man and we gain a man.”

Anders was still frowning. He decidedly did not like this conversation. “I don’t need to be free of him.”

“Right, he’s committed to you.” She watched Anders watching Fenris. “Oh, I see. Sorry. When he said committed, I didn’t realize what he meant. He’s taken vows to you. I’ll not ask again.” And with that she left.

Anders jaw dropped at the implication. He… and Fenris… It was almost laughably absurd! The elf looked in his direction and he quickly turned his head away, blushing again. Fenris must have used the word without realizing what it could mean. Fenris would never care a wit about him like that. He fidgeted a little while longer, glancing out at the fog for the tenth time and then lumbered away, head full of too many things.

This evening was no different with the arguments than other moments of arguing, or was it? Fenris spoke in a warning tone, “Apostate. You are hovering.” Fenris was silently reading Anders’ journal when the mage decided to stand close and lean over him blocking the light.

Anders straightened, “Well, it is my journal. I have a right to look. And, you stopped reading out loud. I thought maybe you were stuck on something.”

“Would you rather I not read them?” He could already sense Anders was in an irrationally snippy mood, that usually came when Anders felt some sort of anxiety and that trouble was not far away, usually trouble of the darkspawn sort.

Anders didn’t know why Fenris was so intent on going through them in careful order. Sometimes, neither was Fenris. Ander shrugged. “No. You asked to read them…. If you dislike me so much and magic, why do you allow me to heal you and buff you in the heat of battle?”

Fenris closed the journal wishing Anders would just sit down and maybe pass the quiet time writing, but he had run out of space in his last journal and had no blanks to continue in. “Because. It is the heat of battle and I do not want to die. Why do you allow me to read these books full of your private thoughts?” He tried, with little success to keep the annoyed snarl from his voice.

“Because…. Because…. Because it is not the heat of battle and I don’t want to die.”

Fenris looked up at Anders with a scowl where his eyebrows creased deep in the middle and wrinkly lines appeared over the bridge of his nose. If you had observed the dangerous elf for fear of your life for as long as Anders had, you too would recognise the different scowls. Scowls for anger, scowls for disgust, scowls for irritation, scowls for exasperation… and this one, the scowl of being perplexed by someone who said or did something that made so very little sense that they may as well have turned purple, sprouted three extra heads and green butterfly wings leaving him uncertain whether to kill it or laugh. And yet, it made sense. Anders wanted on some level to be understood and accepted.

The scowl eased and Fenris chuckled low. “Good to know you value your life now and I need not worry about babysitting Justice in a corpse.”

“Oh! Is that how you see this… arrangement? Babysitting me?!” Anders snapped indignantly. “Maybe you should have told Athenril yes, that you would work for her and just be rid of me in Fereldan!” He turned on his heel to leave the small room.

“Anders!” Fenris dropped the journal on the bed, lyrium illuminating the room in a pale blue glow as he used it to increase his speed. He grabbed Anders’ arm and tugged him back into the room, slamming the door shut and Anders against it. The lyrium faded. “Anders.”

Fenris almost never used his name. That alone held the mage in place and he glared back at the elf.

“That is not what I meant.”

Anders dropped his eyes to study their feet, one set booted and the other set bare with artistic white branded lines and dots. He hunched his shoulders and tried to seem smaller. He tried to not take too much notice that Fenris still had a hand clutched around his arm.

“I was trying to make a jest and clearly failing at it as I do at flattery,” he confessed, releasing Anders’ arm.

Anders’ expression softened some, but he did not raise his eyes. “You jest well sometimes. And I am sure if it really was worth flattering, you would do just fine there too.”

The elf’s ears warmed to a deep pink hue through his dark skin. He was suddenly very uncomfortable with their proximity, but didn’t change it for reasons he could not understand in himself yet. “What had you so upset? It is clearly nothing I have done or not done. Are there darkspawn out here? Somewhere close on the sea?”

Anders lifted his eyes in surprise that the elf had so much intuition. “Can you sense them, too?”

“No. You are the tainted Warden, remember? But you get twitchy and moody without reason and I want to hit you when they are close. Just tell me instead of twisting yourself up inside trying to figure out if we are in danger or not.”

“Most of the time I sense them and they are too far for us to actually do anything about. Close enough to get my back up but not close enough to be certain of danger, until they are practically on top of us. They just… mess up my sleep and whisper in the back of my mind if there is a powerful one among them…. I’m sorry I snapped.”

Fenris grunted and nodded his acceptance of the apology. He rested a hand on Anders’ chest, causing the mage to stiffen with nervousness. Anders always wondered when the elf would phase his hand into his chest and rip out his heart. “Mage, if there are darkspawn, what do you need to do to be ready for them?”

Anders swallowed and almost wanted to put his hand over Fenris’ as he relaxed to thinking and planning. The question was one Hawke often asked as they were about to go on a mission. What did he need to do to prepare for this or that likelihood and ensured Anders had the time and space to do so. “I need to review a different set of shielding and healing spells that I learned when I was among the Wardens to reduce the chances of the untainted being tainted.”

Fenris then gripped the large ring on Anders’ mage coat that was under his hand and tugged the mage out of his way. “Then do so. I will inform Athenril that there may be danger.” He opened the door and was gone.

Anders rubbed at his chest in wonderment where Fenris had rested his hand. “He… touched me. He didn’t have to, but he did.” If it were anyone else, Anders would have taken the gesture as an act of reassurance. But it was Fenris. He had no idea where he stood with the elf. After more than six years and a whole mess of actions, mistakes, and terrible interactions and communication, he just didn’t know. The last several months only made that more confusing. He dared not hope, dared not trust. What if he lost it and hurt people again? What if Fenris abandoned him like Hawke did, just when he grew attached? He shook his head of the thoughts, unwilling to continue exploring their possibilities and dug through their packs for his old Warden-Mage Grimoire and began to search for the spells that would be useful in their potentially current situation. Buffs, shields, specialized healing… all things that were specific to fighting darkspawn, things he had not really looked at since Hawke brought him on that Deep Roads expedition. He started with the two most important: a bound healing spell and a shield against taint. He never got to the rest of the spells. He looked up as Fenris was yelling from the other end of the corridor, brands aglow in lyrium blue.

“MAGE! WEAPONS! NOW!!”


	11. Blighted Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes... you can be scared now....

“MAGE! WEAPONS! NOW!!”

Amazing how a year seemed to vanish in a heartbeat. It was like instinct. Hawke would kick dirt over the fire on the Wounded Coast campsite. Fenris would yell for weapons. Anders would drop everything into a bag, throw weapons to whoever needed them that did not have them on hand, and grab his staff. Fighting usually ensued moments later with raiders charging their small camp.

Anders dropped the grimoire into the open backpack, kicking the latch of the large drawer under the bed. He turned, pulling open the drawer. The dark smoke grey almost black aurum greatsword, Blade of Mercy, was almost too heavy for Anders to lift. Justice already stirred on the edges of his awareness, threatening control and teasing him with the extra strength Anders needed to throw the sword in Fenris’ general direction. Fenris caught it easily one-handed and turned halfway to the stairs up to the deck. Anders pulled out a staff that was simple enough with a blade strapped along one end, spikes on the other, and runes carved down its length. It was a loan from Athenril. Anders’ heart thudded fast in his chest at the rising panic that Templars had found them at sea and he would have nowhere to hide, that Justice might overpower his fragile control and might end up sinking both ships just to destroy the Templars.

Seeing the struggle with the fade spirit, Fenris turned back and took long strides to intercept Anders in the doorway of their small room. “Stop. Take a breath. It is a Tevinter ship.” He hoped to calm Justice with the reassurance that this had nothing to do with Templars. Anders had so much trouble maintaining control since Hawke left, since the one thing that helped him maintain sanity was gone. Anders no longer had an anchor. Fenris pressed his free hand to Anders’ chest, a reminder to the Fade Spirit that he could force control if he had to. Justice receded.

“Tevinter?” asked Anders, a bit confused. He frowned and stated with conviction, “They cannot have you!”

Someone at the stairs hissed in a loud whisper, “Quiet. We’re passing them in the fog.”

All hurried up the stairs and took battle positions as quietly as they could. Anders and Fenris stood on the upper deck with Athenril and her third commander, who was captain of the ship. “Fenris?” The elf turned his attention from the much larger looming shadow in the fog to Anders, whose hand was raised and glowing with the energy of spells yet to be cast. It wasn’t the heat of battle yet, but it was close enough. He nodded and Anders cast the usual series of buffs upon him.

The ships were passing each other slowly and silently in the night. The Tevinter ship easily ten times larger than the small smuggling vessel. In a gap in the fog, the ship’s logo showed clearly, a demon moved on the deck above. “A slave ship,” Fenris rumbled.

“Demons,” breathed Anders. “Why always the demon thing? Can’t those people just say no?”

Fenris smirked. It was a common line Anders seemed to always say when they encountered blood mages allied with demons. His eyes tried to pierce the swirling fog that swallowed the nearby ship into obscurity once more. He was looking for the mage or magister, trying to plan where the person might be and who. He almost punched Anders when the mage gripped his arm hard. The lyrium pattern under the mages hand stabbed painfully to awareness. Magic coursed over his skin and along the lines, powerful magic flavoured like Anders yet not anything that had been cast on him before, a shimmer of white and green. Fenris cursed in Tevinter under his breath, “What the …”

“Darkspawn.”

Anders’ word chilled everyone to the bone who heard him. Why would there be darkspawn on a ship? What would a Tevinter magister be doing with darkspawn? Even they generally stayed away from them. Demons were predictable and controllable. Darkspawn never were as they followed only the ancient whisperings of cursed gods.

The wind started to pick up, but the sails were not down enough to catch it. It blew the thinning fog, exposing both ships to each other. Two abominations leaned over the rail of the Tevinter ship, those mages having already lost their control to the demons who knows how long ago. The sails fluttered, tattered, despite the obvious markings of a slave trade ship. The age of the ship a total unknown. Athenril and the captain started to shout commands. Crew climbed the rigging to release the sails. Demons manifested on the smaller ship’s deck at the will of the abominations. Fenris leapt over the rail from the upper down to the lower deck, greatsword drawn and already dealing damage. A heavy plank dropped from the Tevinter ship, hooked on the end and catching the starboard side of Athenril’s much smaller ship, rocking it. Skeletons poured from the huge slave ship. And thus the battle was begun. Athenril’s people were ill equipped and ill trained for something like this.

Fenris shot a glance back to Anders now and then as he hacked apart foes. Anders stayed safely on the upper deck, casting defensive spells on crew and the occasional magical blast to blow back attackers. Sometimes the green of healing magic flew by to someone in need. Fenris had never realized how skilled Anders really was till now. Usually, they had fought as just a small group of about four. But this was a whole crew of about forty and then some. ‘ _How does he know when to heal and who_?’ thought Fenris. He didn’t waste time thinking much on that and assumed his own swiftly healing wounds were some of those same spells. Lyrium lit along his limbs adding speed and strength to his actions. Demons and shades and skeletons kept coming. So long as those mage-born abominations summoned them back to life, it could be an endless battle with the fallen elven crew being risen from the dead to fight their former crewmates.

Fenris decided to take the battle to them. “Cut me a path!” he yelled to Anders, pointing with his sword that was as long as he was tall. A blast of magical energy shot up the plank to the Tevinter ship, throwing back one of the blood mages who was half-transformed by his demon. Fenris followed in its wake, blade cutting an equally bloody path to either side of him, his focus being any mage or abomination with the power to cast magic or summon anything. That fight ended unnaturally fast. Six dead magic users. The deck of the Tevinter ship seemed eerily devoid of crew. Because their corpses were fighting Athenril’s people. The dead stopped rising. His elven ears heard cheers coming from Athenril’s ship and the occasional call to claim the larger ship for their own. Fenris shook his head. If Anders sensed darkspawn, where were they? Did Athenril’s people think they just fought darkspawn? Having seen the Deep Roads a few times with Hawke, he knew the difference. The difference in smell, in creature type, in fighting style. Darkspawn hunted. They didn’t fight. The living were prey to feed their insatiable hunger. They moved like wasps from a disturbed hive, in unison, focused but without control or restraint.

Some of Athenril’s men were boarding the larger ship now as Fenris prowled on his own hunt. He tried to ignore the squelch of rotting blood and fluids from the vicera of those he killed on deck, making the deck slick, dampened further by moisture from the fog. He grimaced as it squished up between his toes. He opened a hatch that he knew would lead down to the slave holds. The stench of death almost drove him back. Maybe the mage slaver of the ship had slaughtered the slaves for power? The glow from his brands offered some light in the darkness below deck. His own determination to free slaves urged him down, in case any might still be alive.

Fenris froze in place. A darkspawn ogre ripped through an old corpse, the bloated slave spurting in the Ogre’s mouth. Fenris released the lyrium to be dark, a shadow in more shadows, in the hopes that he had not drawn the attention of the beast. That one glimpse of the slave pens told him more than he ever wanted to know. There were no slaves here, not any more, not for a very long time. Darkspawn had eaten many, blood magic had massacred others. And the rest… eyes that had long since lost the light of life, shining silver and pupil-less, turned in Fenris’ direction. They dropped the body parts of their fellows that they had been gnawing upon as vibrant life smelled much better from the stairwell. “Oh shit.” He fled, a horde of darkspawn on his heels.

“RUN! Burn the ship! BURN IT!!!”

An emissary of the darkspawn rose from another hatch. Fenris skidded, lyrium blooming bright over his skin. His path was blocked. He stood alone on the deck. “FENRIS! NO!” Ander’s voice reached clearly to the elf’s ears even as it ended in the echo of Justice. Magic, white and hot direct from the Fade hit the emissary, but not full on. It was enough. Fenris slices along its torso as he darted past, dodging the spray of black tainted blood. He knew he had wounds. He could not afford to become tainted. Anders magic tingled over him without any spell being cast. It was familiarly feeling as Anders’ work, but distracting for a second. No, relieving. He was healing. And a magical barrier had automatically rose to deflect the tainted blood. THAT was new! He would have to ask Anders what magic that was and how… how is he healing him. He wasted no time and ran for the plank. He had to get to Anders before he was completely lost to Justice.

An arrow caught him in the side, then two more in the thigh. He hit the slimy gang plank face first, almost didn’t make it across. A sailor grabbed his arm and dragged him over as they finally managed to release the grapples that held the two ships locked together. “Get me to Anders,” he gritted his teeth, eyes already searching for the mage. This was so many to do magic for, to defend and heal. Justice must have grabbed the first moment of Anders’ faltering strength. Not that Fenris wanted to complain. It saved his life and he liked living, thanks. He yelled from his gut as the sailor yanked out the arrows. Instantly, Fenris felt that healing again, rising up from nowhere, but tasting like Anders. Then it dawned on him. The spells Anders cast just before the battle. Something Anders said before Fenris had first left the room in search of Athenril, a bound healing. “Fool,” he spat. “Fool Apostate!” He realized Anders must have bound his own mana and life force to Fenris to heal him as needed so he would not have to try to keep track of the elf. The wound in his side healed swiftly and smoothly, as did the first in his thigh. The less dangerous one healed mostly before the magic fizzled out. Not just the healing magic, but all the sustained magic that Fenris was used to feeling.

Sage green eyes snapped to the upper deck. Athenril, shouting orders from the stairs. The captain, gripping the wheel and steering the ship away from the Tevinter ship. The last vestiges of white light cutting through the hull of the Tevinter ship and lighting fabric into a magical inferno. Justice’s Fade magic. A wave rushing up, and tilting the smaller boat as the larger one took in water and began to sink. No Anders. He was supposed to be right there, on the upper deck, casting from the railing. _“The only way to release the spirit from me is if I die. And then, only maybe. He might just choose to keep my corpse like he did the last man he possessed.”_ So, where was Anders? Where was Justice? Fenris literally threw the sailor off him about eight feet across the deck, lit his tattoos and bolted for the upper deck. If Anders was down, it could be mage shock from far over extending himself. He did not want to think Anders was dead, that dread was as forbidden an emotion as hope. Mage shock, though, could lead to death. And all for what? To heal Fenris? Why would the mage do something like that? Risk his life, give his very life force for him? He reached the upper deck to find Anders collapsed on the floor. He grabbed him and shook him, “You idiot! You Maker-be-damned IDIOT!”

The Tevinter ship tipped on its end and sank in a blaze. Darkspawn floating on the surface, some sinking. The small ship’s sails finally unfurled and snapped taught as the wind filled them.

Fenris shook Anders again and again. “Stop,” the mage moaned as warm amber eyes opened. “I’m… fine…” They rolled as he passed out.

“Like hell you are,” Fenris breathed with far more relief than he expected. He stood, lifting the mage easily in his arms and carried him down to their room.

In their room, Fenris moved quickly. He laid Anders on the bed, and removed boots and mage coat, often checking the man’s temperature and if Anders started to shake from shock. He piled all the blankets they had over him. Then sat hard on the floor with their backpack, digging out every bottle and vial of healing-related potions till he found the one he sought. He scooped Anders’ head into the crook of his arm and poured the vial down his throat. Anders coughed and gulped and coughed again. Fenris sat watching him after that, watching… and waiting. This was the part he hated most. The waiting and wondering. Under Danarius, he would secretly hope the mage under his care would die, assumed that if he had to do this again for any mage, the feelings would be the same. But they weren’t. Would Anders slide into mage shock and die? Or would he sleep and recover his magic and live? There were many things Fenris would have done in this situation that he could not do here on a ship. Hot bath, hot meal. Either and both would be good to stave off the shock and ground Anders in the real world. Those were not options at the moment. So he sat… and waited… remembering the one and only other time this happened with Anders.


	12. Mage Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is a flashback.
> 
> And a tribute to "Walk Softly and Carry a Big Axe" which is an amazing fic!

**~ Almost three months after Hawke left Kirwall, six months before the present moment. Third Person POV.**

_Fenris stalked about Lowtown, having gotten sick of Hightown’s market. His status as “Friend of the Champion” allowed him a great deal of leeway. The mansion was his. Well, it was Hawke’s on paper so that it was not legally a problem for Fenris, and Varric often handled the actual accounts and city payments. Even Orana had been coming to it over the last couple months to clear away the rubble and bodies. She cleaned it and started to make it look like an actual home. Being “Friend of the Champion” made Fenris rather high profile. He sometimes found it disturbing and sometimes found it intriguing. He had never had such status. And in his mansion, HIS mansion, he owned things, like everything IN this mansion. He liked the feeling of putting down roots and tried to not think too much about Danarius. Whatever Anders did to his ex-master sent the man fleeing Kirwall and there were doubts he would come back anytime soon. Fenris just didn’t like the many stares he sometimes got in Hightown’s market. He could not tell if the people hated him, thought of him as a monstrosity, or respected him. He could not tell if they were spying for Danarius. This always drove him to Lowtown to shop for supplies or hang out with Varric. People didn’t care much about who he was or what he looked like there._

_It was there that he overheard a guard say that Aveline had returned. Almost three months of putting up with damned apostate who could hardly control the spirit in him and Fenris was right ready to kill the mage. Now that Aveline was back, so too would Hawke be. And Fenris could stop protecting the mage from… usually himself, sometimes the stray Templar trying to re-establish control in the city, or the occasional citizen who simply resented mage-freedom. Fenris fought other people for Anders as much as he fought Anders directly. The only difference was that Anders never once drew blood. He never even lifted a staff to Fenris. The magic he would throw, almost never actually touched skin. When magic did touch Fenris, it was not when they were fighting. Anders would ask softly if he may heal Fenris’ wounds. Last week was another one of those fights about mage’s rights to be free and choose their own lives. Anders even had a written Manifesto. Fenris could not believe how Anders still clung to that after a couple blood mages had invaded the clinic and tried to usurp power from the wounded Anders was healing. Fenris was so fed up with their arguing._

_So, Aveline was back in town. With a near spring in his step, Fenris took the most direct route to the Viscount’s Keep to find her. Not having heard rumor of Hawke, Fenris figured Hawke was either being silly again and trying to sneak into the city to prove he could, or was on another ship soon to arrive. The discomfort of eyes on him all through the Keep made his skin crawl more than the healing magic from Anders after the blood mage attack. He descended into the barracks, glad to escape the eyes of the nobles here. Her office door was closed. He stood there thinking how to greet her and how to ask his questions. He hadn’t yet knocked, wanting his thoughts ordered in his head. He still stood there thinking what would actually happen if he didn’t have to watch the mage any more. What would he do with his life? Hawke had once told him to start a life when he asked Hawke what one does once they actually are free. Starting a life meant coming up with reasons to be, and Fenris found himself more a follower than a leader. Without a purpose, he was nothing._

_He glared at the guards who gave him questioning looks for standing so long outside the Captain’s door. Donnic approached, side glanced Fenris and knocked. “Captain! You have a visitor!” And walked away. The look Fenris gave him could have killed. Amazing how Donnic seemed not to notice._

_The door opened, “Fenris. Good, come in”_

_He entered and she closed the door behind her. He thought how she used this tone whenever Hawke came here and she ended up asking Hawke to help with some job or other. “Where’s Hawke?” demanded Fenris._

_“Still away. I had to come back, though. This was going to take much longer than I could commit and my life… is here now.” Her hand unconsciously touched over her belly for just the barest second._

_‘She abandoned Hawke with the little blood mage?!’ thought Fenris with exasperation._

_Aveline must have read his expression easily, for she added, “He’s fine. Merrill and he parted ways in Nevarra. She’s off chasing some scrap of mirror lore. And he met with his contact, Finn, and got directions and advice and who knows what else. He is trying to get a new group together in Nevarra like he did here in Kirkwall, so he has manpower if he has to fight things. He’s fine Fenris, will you just sit down.”_

_Fenris Stopped mid-pace and sat. He got more answers in Aveline’s usual concise report style than anticipated. Bottom lines, he was still stuck with Anders and Hawke was still off adventuring without them._

_“How is Anders? I know you don’t want to do this. Need a break from him? I can take over next week, if you need help.” Aveline offered._

_She was well-intentioned. However, it smacked at the mistrust that the group had in Fenris with this task. Did they think he could not handle it himself? Did they think this was like babysitting a child? How ignorant were they?! Justice was too dangerous for anyone else. And what? Did they think if he did not get a break that he would break his promise and kill Anders? His back stiffened with insult. “He’s managing. We argue, but it is fine. And no. I don’t need any… help.” This job was asked of him. It was HIS task to do. He had nothing else otherwise. And what would anyone else do with Anders? If he lost control? Hawke wanted him alive, might come back with a way to free Anders from Justice. Killing Anders would make all Hawke’s risks in Tevinter a waste of time and energy and possible life for nothing. "I just came for news, Aveline.”_

_“Oh, alright. Well, maybe we will see each other at the Hanged Man sometime.” It was her gentle dismissal and he was glad to take it. He was angry, with her, with Hawke, with everyone. Did Hawke send her back to check on him? No, that wasn't it. Fenris had almost missed her earlier unconscious gesture. Outside the keep, he smacked his face into his palm as he realized Aveline was sent back because she might be pregnant._

_Fenris almost stomped from the Keep. If it wasn’t in his nature and training to walk softly, even while carrying a big axe or sword, stomping would be done. His anxiety about the perceived mistrust in him made him worry that perhaps he was not doing such a good job. Maybe his constant fighting and arguing might actually be triggering Justice manifestations, hindering more than helping keep Anders in check. Deep in self-evaluating thoughts, Fenris found his feet had taken him to Darktown._

_Anders had been swinging to the extremes in his moods since The Fall, since Hawke left, since he found Anders, or Anders found him. The mood swings sometimes make Fenris poke around the sewers to see if darkspawn were creeping into the city. Moody Anders usually meant darkspawn. Though lately, moody Anders could mean anything. The mage would be cheery and charming, pensive and intellectual, selflessly compassionate, suicidally melancholic, or overly righteous and almost vengeful. Fenris wondered how he could maybe, work on that. It twisted in his gut and made him growl. What did he even know about the blighted mage? He threw magic at you in a fight, that was actually useful. He healed, also useful. He was actually damned good at the healing with and without magic. He proved innovative. Fenris touched where Anders had healed him with an experimental procedure that miraculously worked. But he knew nothing else. He twirled his staff a great deal while casting. Did he even know how to use it as a weapon other than a casting tool? Or was the swinging and twirling just for show? Most mages don’t. Where was Anders from? Did it matter? Why did he run away from his Circle of Magi? Or from the Wardens? What did it mean to be a Grey Warden? Beyond the sensing darkspawn. He recalled that Anders suffered night terrors, often of the darkspawn sort. He was a mage, who hated Templars so much that he allied with the Fade Spirit Justice to fight them and free mages from some imagined tyranny. Okay, not so imagined if Fenris thought about how the Templars treated the mages here in Kirkwall. And if he thought about it hard enough, he could maybe, almost, just barely see how their plight was similar to the slaves in Tevinter. But who was Anders? In all the six years they had worked and fought together, he had not really paid much attention beyond the man who wriggled his way into Hawke’s affections._

_Fenris huffed a heavy sigh, turned a corner and almost ran flat into a guard. “No passage,” the city guard stated firmly. “Go back the way you came.” The guard blocked his path and repeated his insistent phrase._

_“But I have to get through,” persisted Fenris._

_The guard shook his head, “I am sorry serrah. Clearly you have not been here in nigh a week. The epidemic is getting bad down here and we are not allowing anyone up or down. Darktown is under quarantine as of an hour ago.”_

_Fenris stood stunned. He had been so angry with that apostate that he had avoided being here for several days. Had it been a week? Did he really neglect his duty? His stomach clenched. Maybe Hawke had every right to doubt him. Now that he could not get to Anders, he felt almost violently in need to reach him. His self-criticism driving him to think of better ways he could do the task, the promise, Hawke asked of him. He should have been checking on Anders daily. He should have not allowed his opinions and emotions dictate his actions or lack of actions. It didn’t matter if he disliked the apostate or hated how he pushed Fenris to see the sorry state mages live in at Circles. Anders needed protection from Templars, from other would-be attackers, from himself. If for no other reason than the devastation of the Gallows and Chantry could become Darktown’s innocent lives. And honestly, Anders did more good for the people here than anyone else. He never asked for anything in return, just healed, gave of himself over and over. Fenris could hardly comprehend this kind of compassion. It was almost too much in the face of his own life that lacked it and craved it._

_He had to find a way to Anders. What if Anders was sick with the plague that has taken over down there? Fenris recalled all the times he had been in grave pain, injured, and/or ill, his slave eyes begging to not be left alone. Even that time Anders got creative to save his life. Not once did Anders leave his side. Even though they argued or hated each other or were jealous of what the other got from Hawke. Anders let it go to heal him, and to be there for him. ‘I am never really there for him. No one is,’ Fenris realized, and it almost made him sick. He ran through the streets of Lowtown seeking another way into Darktown. He was blocked at every point. He tried the Docks which had forgotten accesses to the sewers. No luck. Not so forgotten. The guards were exceptionally diligent. He even tried the secret entrance tunnel from the Hawke estate that should go directly down to the clinic._

_Aveline blocked it. “Fenris, thank the Maker! I was afraid you had gotten down there before I could stop you.”_

_“Don’t you dare stop me,” Fenris growled. His clawed gauntlets curling into fists as the brands began to shimmer. “Did you know about this? Why did you not tell me?! He could be dead already? Justice could be…”_

_“I only just got through the reports,” she defended. “I am not stopping you exactly. Just… here. Put these on before you go down, and burn them if you come up.”_

_“I am not coming back up until I find him and it is safe to.”_

_She nodded. “I thought you might say as much. Bodhan? Orana?” The dwarf and elf came into the room with bags and packs of supplies. “Food for you both for two weeks, spare blankets, clothing, towels and soap, medical potions and herbs, bandages. Fresh water too.”_

_Backpacks spelled to weigh a certain amount no matter what they held were a wondrous thing to Fenris since he met Hawke. What he had to wear were… boots. He looked at them with more hate than he had ever directed at Anders. But he understood the gravity if Aveline, who knew he would not and could not really wear anything on his feet, was insisting. It was so he did not potentially bring up contagion when he did finally come up._

_Seeing his hesitation and turmoil, Aveline spoke up, “My guards won’t trouble you, or him…. Fenris. He’s a good healer. The best I have ever known. He’ll be alright.” His guilt of failing both Hawke and Anders must have flashed too blatantly on his face. “He’ll be alright,” she reassured softly._

_Fenris stepped determinedly into the boots, gritting his teeth and shoving the pain aside. He shouldered as many packs as he could and realized he could not carry it all. He dropped them and removed Blade of Mercy. “Put her in my mansion. I’ll be back for her.” Then shouldered all the packs he could and gripped the rest in his hands. Aveline opened the secret panel that went down to a hidden tunnel that lead right in front of the clinic. “Aveline. Thank you for helping me. I… needed it.” He meant more how she helped point him back to his purpose more than what she was doing right now. She nodded as if she understood, closed the panel and left Fenris to find his way._

_He hiked down and down and down. He could smell the changes from Hightown into a neutral area of unused tunnels, to stagnant catacombs that Hawke undoubtedly plundered to death, pun intended with regards to Hawke. Finally the darkness took on a dampness and a stench that belied the sewers and Darktown’s underground maze. Just a little further and the stink of sick mixed with camphor and alcohol and elfroot and blood filled his sensitive nose. The clinic. He trudged awkwardly down the stairway hating how he could not properly feel the land beneath his feet. He shoved open the cardboard and blanket panelling that covered the hidden passage._

_The smell of burnt bodies drifted in from some pyre elsewhere in Darktown. They were burning the dead. It was the best way to prevent continued disease, and incidentally, to prevent blood mages from having corpses to raise. Every bed and bench was taken up by someone in some state of disease. People lay in rows on the floor, on threadbare blankets. Black oozing pustules covered the skin of most. A few elves and humans milled about under directions from Anders to wash this, or burn that, or bandage here or there. Anders moved from patient to patient oblivious of Fenris for the moment._

_Fenris tried to slip as silently as his uncomfortably booted feet could into a small back space reserved for Anders, his private room, separated from the clinic by old blankets tied to pegs in the beams of the ceiling. He dropped the gear there. Looking back out at all the suffering people, he could not justify sleeping on a bedroll himself and ignored it. He decided to let Anders decide what to do with most of the supplies. He took over a small section of Anders’ space to unpack, setting up the food and water and core supplies for themselves. How the hell did Aveline manage to get this barrel into the pack? He had to struggle hard to get it out. It then lay on its side, dwarven runes carved and shining around the rims. It must hold more water than it looks like it should, like the backpacks. He filled a waterskin and stepped out to find Anders._

_The apostate looked tired and a little gaunt. Fenris held out the waterskin to him. Anders drank deeply from it without even registering that it was Fenris who had offered it. “Thank you,” was all he said as his attention was still on trying to save the life of the young elf on the table before him. Anders was alive. He was not under Justice’s control. He didn’t seem to have contracted the plague. Disease was a foe Fenris could not hack to bits with a sword. He felt somewhat helpless. No, helpless was not the word, useless, that was a better term for how he felt. He would not be defending Anders from anyone; there was no one with the energy to fight. Dying desperation coated everything down here._

_“How can I help?” Fenris asked when he finally found his voice after being so humbled by Anders determination to heal everyone._

_Anders turned to him with a surprised expression. Was he surprised to see Fenris? Was he surprised that Fenris offered his assistance? Was he surprised that Fenris asked how he could be of said assistance? The surprise was replaced by a bone deep sigh of relief. “Thank you for coming. I could not convince anyone to come down to help. I was doing this… all alone.” His voice shook a moment and he took in a deep breath, forcing himself back into control and calm. Fenris had seen this before and realized that Anders would never show his patients how afraid he was, it would only cause panic._

_“I am here, now. I won’t leave you again.” Fenris found he meant it, meant it perhaps as much as he meant it when he had told Hawke the very same thing. “Not unless you ask me to.”_

_“Fenris. You have no idea how much I need you. I will never send you away.”_

_Fenris frowned, unsure if he understood. It didn’t matter, not right now. “So, how can I help?”_

_Ander scanned the clinic. He had returned to this clinic because it provided better space and access to fresh water, especially if Anders maintained a purification spell on a water pipe he had easy access to in this locale. He cast a spell over his hand, “I need to cast preventive shielding on you, to hopefully keep you from getting this illness.” At Fenris’ nod, he cast it over the elven warrior. “I seem to be immune. I suspect you will be too because of the lyrium, but better safe than sorry. Did you by chance bring any lyrium potions?” Again a short nod from Fenris. “Good. I’ll need one soon. I need more cots; I don’t care who you have to wrangle for them. Tables too. Or anything that can work for that.” He selected tasks based on what he knew were Fenris’ strengths._

_Fenris only realized that by the next day when he listened to Anders telling other people what tasks to do next. He managed this place as efficiently as Aveline managed the barracks and guards. Kids were given the tasks of fetching water or food, helping patients drink or eat. Some people bathed those too weak to do so themselves. The less squeamish people cleaned up waste, scrubbed surfaces that were vacated when someone died or recovered enough to walk out. Fenris did most of the heavy lifting or moving the dead to the pyres._

_Every time someone died under Anders glowing green hands, it looked as if the mage was stabbed briefly in the chest. He hardly slept, he barely ate, he struggled every possible moment he could to try to save these people. In some ways, it was incredible to witness Anders snatch people from the edge of death back into the safety of the living, time and time again. He heard one elf whisper the Dalish word **vir atish’an** when referring to Anders. It would be Fenris’ newest elven word. When asked, an elf explained that it meant Way of Peace and one who has the divine calling and gift to walk that path, a healer. It was considered a path so rare for few can hear Wisdom’s Call, the call of the goddess Sylaise, hearthkeeper and healer to the Dalish. _

_Ferris’ first reaction was to actually laugh himself silly in the back room, to think of Anders, the possessed by Justice/Vengeance apostate, divinely called or touched. That made Anders rush in and ask if Fenris contracted a new ailment, or accidentally drank a bad mixture of potions. “Why?” sniggered Fenris._

_“Because you are… uh… laughing… and I haven’t even said anything funny yet.” Anders usually made jokes and jests, often to cover his true feelings, but also just to get others to laugh or smile._

_“Who says you have to be the only one with something funny to say?”_

_Anders just shook his head, he was too tired for this, but the laugh had given him some encouragement and a small smile. It was like a tiny victory for Fenris to see a genuine smile from Anders directed at him. It touched some deep need inside him to please and be praised, one Hawke had once touched, except it was Anders, the possessed apostate, which made it… weird. Fenris tried to keep an eye on Anders health too, watching despite the mage’s statement that he thought he was immune. Each day, Anders renewed and maintained the water purification spell and the prevention from illness spell on the elven warrior. Fenris wondered just how many spells Anders had on the go and was maintaining and just how much healing he could do at the same time. He tried to get Anders to sit sometimes, and eat, and sleep. But those moments were constantly interrupted and getting shorter and shorter with longer and longer stretches between them as the days passed._

_When Anders staggered and started resorting to lyrum potions to keep up with the need for magical energy, mana, Fenris started to worry what would happen. Anders was out of his own mana, tapped dry and relying on lyrium potions to keep going. “Mage, you need to stop. Mages should not take in this much lyrium when they are exhausted. You need to rest.”_

_“Don’t tell me how to do magic!” Anders snapped. “I know what I am doing. And these people… they…” his thoughts were stumbling and jumbling as his focus wavered. “They need healing. No one else… there’s… I have to, I can…”_

_Fenris managed to catch Anders before he hit the ground. All the magic he had been sustaining fizzled out in an instant. Fenris recognized the signs. Most Tevinter apprentices turned to blood magic long before this. But then, none of them could heal. Anders' breath came ragged and he shivered uncontrollably. He tried to focus on Fenris, but found he couldn’t, could not even speak. “You are done for now, Mage.” Fenris had been obliged by Danarius to tend to apprentices in mage shock before. It was as much to ensure his apprentices had care enough to recover and return to their duties as it was to scare the life out of them that their master’s killing tool was there to rip out their heart for their failures at a single word. There was no Danarius here. Anders was not an apprentice, just a fool who spent himself well beyond his means. By the look in Anders face, Fenris knew that the mage had never pushed himself this far before, had no idea what was happening. Likely, no mages in any of the Circle got pushed like this. It created too high a risk of turning to demons for aid. Fenris wondered if Anders even knew anything about mage shock._

_To his relief, a guard walked into the clinic to declare the quarantine over. The very statement seemed to lift a weight right out of the whole of Darktown. Except for Fenris. The weight lay heavy in his arms. Anders drifted in and out of disorientation. His skin had the slightest hint of blue from too much lyrium. He definitely looked and felt shocky, pale and clammy. Fenris was running out of time. Rather, Anders was running out of time. Fenris cursed himself for not forcing Anders to rest sooner. At least he knew what to do and if he was lucky, the mage would live. He pulled Anders to his feet and supported him, gritting his teeth for every place Anders’ skin touched his own. He half guided, half dragged the mage along. “Hey you, put out the lanterns. Anders will not be healing again till he recuperates.” The startled human with a wash basin took in the sight, nodded, and did as he was told._

_He used the swiftest route to Hightown where he left behind his boots and Anders’ to be burned by a guard. Another guard escorted them to Fenris’ mansion. Inside, Orana let out a surprised squeak. He commanded her without intending to be so harsh, to acquire a certain potion, prepare the bed in his room and the bath, find Anders some bed clothes… and a hot heavy brothy meal like a stew or something. Orana bobbed her head and gave a quick curtsey. She dashed ahead of them up the stairs to start the bath and turn down the bedding in Fenris’ new large bed._

_Anders was getting harder to guide on his feet. He flinched and reacted to every sound, afraid, mumbling he didn’t want to go back. His mage shock was getting worse; delirium was starting to set in. At a look up the long flight of stairs, Fenris huffed, tapped into the power of his lyrium brands and scooped Anders off his feet. He barely made it to the top as hysterics took over Anders and Fenris was force to practically drop him. Anders grappled a door frame. Terror filled his eyes._

_And then there was Justice._

_Fenris had had dealings with Justice on and off now for three months. He refused to show anything but boredom at this point, maybe frustration for this behaviour. “You will not have him! I will not allow you to give him to the Templars. He will not be taken to be made Tranquil!”_

_Orana gasped, frightened._

_“Orana, stay out of sight. Take the back stairs to the kitchen. I will handle this.” Fenris instructed to keep damage to a minimum. “Justice. If you think that is what I will be doing, then you are even more stupid than your host. Do you see Templars here? Do we have to have this conversation again? I do not think Anders has the strength to survive it if we do. Let. Him. Go. He is suffering a condition called Mage Shock and you are NOT helping. And if you are not going to let him go, then march him into the bedroom and make him eat and bathe and sleep. Delay, and you’ll be inhabiting a corpse within the next few hours.”_

_There was a moment of reflection, “Do not take him from his feet again.”_

_“Great, so I can add that to his phobias? Or is that one of yours?” Fenris never got an answer as Justice released his control on Anders. He seized the moment and yanked Anders to his feet again and hauled him into the large bedroom, dropping him into a chair. There he removed his own armor, dropping it heedless into a corner of the room. Fenris was giving Anders a few minutes to calm from the hysterics he had and the confusion that always followed Justice’s hold. A hesitant knock at the door caused Anders to flinch so hard he fell from the chair and tried to call up a spell, but there was no magic there, which only worsened Anders state of panic. Fenris helped him back into the chair. “It’s just Orana.” He wanted to be angry at Anders, but after days of watching him, really watching him work at healing the sick through the epidemic, he just couldn’t, mage or no, he could not be angry at Anders. Annoyed with the martyr mentality, but not angry. He didn’t know anyone, other than Hawke, that gave so much of themselves so freely, so selflessly. Fenris softened his voice down to a low purr, “It will be alright. I know how to take care of you. No one will take you away or make you Tranquil. You are safe, in my mansion, safe.”_

_Fenris stepped away to see what Orana needed or brought. “Fenris!” Anders reached for him, but he was too far to the door. He turned at his name. It was good that Anders knew it was him. Some mages in mage shock stop knowing the people around them. Anders might have a good chance if he can get him warm, fed, and the right potion down his throat. “I am not leaving you,” he reassured. Anders seemed placated and sank back into the chair to hug himself and shiver._

_Orana was too afraid to come in but agreed to if she must. She wanted to be a good servant, but feared Anders was having a spirit episode as she called it. “No, I can handle this. Did you find what I asked for?” asked Fenris._

_“I did. The herbalist had it. She will take the cost from the accounts after. And, there is beef stew cooking. I thought, well, when Messere Anders lived with Messere Hawke, there was a special tea he liked. It helped sometimes. I could bring it over.”_

_“Do that, along with… does he have anything of his over there? Hawke and he are not together anymore and he does not live there with him anymore. He should have access to his belongings. And he is going to need clothing.” Fenris tried to think what else. The tea was a brilliant idea._

_“I can wash all your clothes, I know they are full of sick, I do not mind. I brought a basket here just for that.” She pointed to a large wicker basket beside the door. “Oh! And…” She dragged over a small decorative table from across the corridor to the other side of Fenris’ bedroom door. “I can put the tea and food here, so I don’t disturb you in there or startle him. I don’t want to make him have another episode.”_

_Clearly Hadrianna did not know what a treasure of a slave she had in her midst. What would Hawke do in an epiphany like this? “Orana, nice work.”_

_She smiled as bright as the sun at him. “Shall I bring stew for you both? Messere Hawke always asked for their meals on a large shared plate or bowl. I think it is some Fereldan custom.” She pulled the potion Fenris asked for from her pocket and handed it to him before she forgot, still giddy with the small praise given to her._

_“Sure. Why not?” Whatever worked, right? If it ensured Anders would settle down with no more Justice appearances and help him survive the mage shock, Fenris was willing to try. He was not going to fail in his duty again. That feeling of failure was among the worst things he had ever felt inside himself._

_He dragged a stool over to the chair, tucked the vial of recovery elixir into his belt, and helped Anders out of his mage coat. The boots were already taken by the guard on their way here. He tried to get Anders out of his other clothes so he can get into the bath, but that went badly. Anders panicked all over again, curled into a defensive ball and would not let Fenris any closer. Fenris lost patience. Lyrium shone over his hands and he grabbed Anders’ jaw. He forced the elixir down his throat and wrapped a blanket around him till either Anders gained enough sense to calm down, or the mage shock tumbled him into coma. He could not understand the mage’s reactions, other than they were born of instinct, the kind developed from some kind of trauma. He was not without his own. He didn’t like being touched either so he accepted Anders’ reaction._

_“The elixir is one you’ve used on others. Recovery Gold, you call it.” Fenris figured if he just talked, like Anders just talked to his patients, maybe it might help. “Orana is bringing us food and tea. You will need to eat. I’m going to check on the bath. You can wash up before me.” He wandered to the bathroom to check the deep bath, one of the luxuries he loved about this mansion. The bigger rooms had their own bathing rooms with actually good dwarven plumbing. This bath was shared with the room next door, but no one else lived here so it didn’t matter. The bonus was that now that Orana did some maintenance in this mansion, the hot water worked too. “There are towels here and some sleeping clothes.” He wandered back and sat on the stool in front of the chair. “Anders, look at me.” He held his hand close to the mage, but didn’t yet touch him. He didn’t want to startle him. Mage shock disoriented, caused hallucinations sometimes, or plummeted one into a coma._

_Anders looked up at him, shaking more than he had before. “Have you ever had mage shock before?” Anders shook his head but there was some focus in his gaze. The elixir must be helping. “You over extended yourself. Drank too many lyrium potions.” He slowly moved his hand closer. He was without any armor, just his cotton vest and his leggings. He hoped he seemed less threatening. His hand finally reached the mage’s face. He pressed the back of his fingers to Anders’s brow, then cheek, then turned his hand a little and felt for Anders’ pulse. “Your core body temperature is low. That is why you shake. It is like actual shock, but comes from exhausting your mana so badly that you can’t replenish it. The confusion, disorientation is from the Fade. Don’t give into it. Treat it like a sloth demon.” He smirked at Anders, “Just say no.” It won him a hesitant chuckle from the mage. Another victory! “Mages often die from mage shock. I know how to get you through it, but you have to work with me on it.”_

_“I’m… really cold…”_

_Fenris pulled another blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Anders. Bundled in two blankets, he still shivered. “When food comes, you have to eat a little, even if you do not want to. You need to reground yourself in the real world.” He heard Orana right on cue with the food tray and the tea. He went to retrieve it from the hall, asking her for another blanket, maybe six more actually. Fenris brought over the tray. It was large enough to take up both their laps. He sat on the stool holding it. “This is hot and I do not want to hold it all day, Mage.” Anders unfolded himself and put his feet on the ground. The tray had slices of fresh bread, that smelled right out of the oven, and the beef stew steamed invitingly. “Orana said it is some Fereldan thing that you people eat from the same plate. So, I’ll… share it with you.”_

_The tray warmed Anders’ thighs as Fenris moved in closer and rested it over both their laps. Anders turned his head away, his knotting stomach already rebelling. His hands shook too much to hold a spoon. It was too embarrassing. Fenris ignored it all. He dipped some bread into the thick stew broth and ate with his fingers. When Anders made no move to eat, he dipped more bread and brought it closer to him. “You need to eat. You hardly had enough in Darktown. Anders,” he used the mages name again, because the novelty of it rewarded him with actual attention. Anders took the sopping bread in both hands and nibbled at it slowly. Fenris twitched an ear and turned his head, always listening. “Good, you look a bit steadier. Eat a bit more,” he encouraged. “Just a few more bites and I will help you to the bath, but you are stripping yourself and washing yourself.” He declared it like he had no intention of do it for Anders, even though he had already decided he would if he had to._

_Anders helped himself to another piece of bread, soaked it in the broth and ate. Fenris watched every movement, every shake, every fumble without comment. “Okay, that’s enough. You can have more after the bath, and I want some too. It is supposed to be a shared plate. Maybe I will nickname you Mabari instead of Mage.” He stood and took the tray to the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he monitored Anders trying to stand, still unsteady, but more focused. Elixir, food, bath, then rest. Ander might make it. He caught Anders’ elbow when the mage teetered off balance. “And no drowning.”_

_“Fenris?” His tone was so uncertain as he struggled to piece together what happened and how he got there. “Why are you doing this? You… hate me.”_

_Fenris was not sure how to answer that. “You have healed me more times than I can count. This time, I know how to heal you. Let me?” Those amber eyes held his so long he felt them looking inside his chest. Anders seemed to be seeking the truth of what he said, how honestly he meant his request, if there was any danger. It took so much effort to look away from those sad and wary eyes. ‘I do not hate you. I hate what you might become, what you sometimes are,’ thought Fenris. He wanted to say those words but they would not come. So he simply lead Anders to the bath and left. He made sure the door was open just a bit so he could see any sudden movements, like a fall, or hear any strange sounds, like a passed out mage drowning._

_Anders bathed on his own and dressed in the sleep clothes that Orana provided. He had to lean on everything for lack of strength. During the bath, Fenris ate through about half the food and restrained himself from eating the rest. It was so much better than the crap and rations he had the last several days in the clinic. As Anders came out, Fenris collected the discarded clothing and dumped them in the basket outside the room. Hunger bade Anders to make his way around the room to the desk where he sat and ate little by little without aid. Satisfied that this was good progress, Fenris refreshed the water in the bath and washed himself. He felt much more reasonable now that he too was clean. All filthy clothing now evicted from the bedroom, along with the two blankets that Anders had been bundled in for they were considered soiled in Darktown as far as Fenris was concerned._

_“I… can’t stop shaking,” Anders complained, confused._

_Fenris approached and paused to let Anders adjust to the fact that he was going to end up with Fenris touching him again. Exactly as before, brow, cheek, pulse at his throat. Anders hunched and shrank from the touch at his throat. Then Fenris reached for Anders’ shaking hands. Anders yanked his hand away, tugging at the too short sleeves that exposed his wrists. Fenris scowled. Then his scowl deepened as he saw scarring. He had been warned that Anders might try to commit suicide, but those scars were like ragged bands around each wrist, as if he had been shackled. Fenris took Anders’ hands anyways. “You are still suffering from the mage shock. Are you dizzy? Tired?”_

_Anders would not raise his eyes, but nodded. “Ya, like a dying cat.”_

_“That is not funny.”_

_“Wasn’t meant to be. I feel like some dragon tried to eat me and decided I didn’t taste good enough.”_

_Fenris chuckled at that, “Now that is funny.” He tugged Anders up and guided him to the bed. Anders’ energy waned swiftly and he almost didn’t make it to the bed before his knees buckled. A distressed whimper escaped his throat. “I got you.” Anders did not hear the reassuring words. He was completely unconscious and Fenris risked carrying him the next two feet and lifting him into the bed, where he bundled him under the extra blankets._

_Fenris sat on the side of the bed, wondering if the mage would sleep, recovering his magic, or if he would slip too deeply and die. The anxiety of not knowing bothered him for the first time. Hawke was not here to support them, either of them. Anders only had Fenris. “I am a poor substitute for Hawke. But I will try, really try to protect you as he wished. I will not fail you and I will not leave you. Just do not dare die on me.” He huffed and grumped and crossed his arms._

_It took hours before the shaking and shivering abated. Fenris, out of curiosity, leaned over the sleeping mage and checked him again. Temperature seemed normal now. Pulse was fast, but Anders was fidgeting in his usual night terrors. Here was where Fenris gave into his curiosity. He lifted the edge of the blankets back a bit and checked Anders’ wrists more carefully, more critically. The scars definitely looked like shackle scars. He’d seen this often enough with ill-treated slaves. It raised questions in Fenris’ mind. The scarring low on Anders’ neck raised more questions. If a slave showed magical abilities, they were chained with a special collar that was infused with lyrium to sap the mana and dampen any chance of casting. It often burned the mage-born slave, especially if the slave was human. But such things were of Tevinter, not Fereldan. He suddenly wondered if in all these six years he had maybe, just maybe, been wrong about Anders in some way. No, he couldn’t have been that wrong. Anders was possessed._

_He heard noise in the house and listened carefully, debating grabbing up Blade of Mercy and giving Orana more bodies to clean up. But it was only Orana and Bodhan and Sandal with Anders’ belongings from Hawke’s place. He realized with shock, that he just moved the possessed apostate into his home… without even asking. What in the name of all the blighted Deep Roads did he just do? He sighed and told himself that this was because there was no other way to keep track of the damned troublesome mage. He relaxed back down on the side of the bed and tucked the blankets back over Anders. Then he indulged in his other curiosity. Something Isabella had exclaimed once when she fondled Anders at the Hanged Man, “Oooh, your hair is so silky soft. Is it just as soft down there?” While the mage played the charm and flirt game with her, he never seemed to risk anything more than the banter and light touches in safe zones. Her comment had made him jump and blush, though. Fenris smirked at the memory and very delicately ran his fingers through Anders’ blond locks. They were indeed soft, like feathers rather than silk. Anders sighed at the touch and relaxed as though that one touch chased away the demons in his dreams. Fenris would remember that for the future._

_All Fenris could do now was sit… and wait… Anders would wake, or he wouldn’t. Either way, their lives would change after this experience._

**~ Present day on Athenril’s ship.**

Fenris stroked through the feather-soft blond strands as the ship rocked gently on the waves, moving at a good pace with the wind. His fingers snagged at the tangles and tie in Anders’ hair, so he removed it. The mage still did not stir. He smoothed through the golden locks as he had several months before, waiting, trying not to hope. That was a forbidden emotion, and yet it wormed its way like taint into him. Anders would wake, or he would not. Only this time, there was no hot bath, no hot meal, just Fenris. “Do not dare die on me.”


	13. Normal

“Do not dare die on me.” Fenris kept the green strip of leather from Anders’ hair. He told himself it was so as not to lose it for Anders. He tied it around his right wrist. He had long since removed the red strip of cloth that Hawke had given him that one night they slept together. ( _See, Anders, I’ve been with someone… once.)_ But little came of that moment and Fenris could only think that it was his fault. He ran from it, overwhelmed by the experience and then that Hawke wasn’t really interested. The red cloth was stuffed now in some personal bag with the Amell crest he had kept on his hip. On the run like this, he didn’t want to announce any loyalty ties, especially if word got back to Tevinter with Hawke there. Danarius might decide to attack Hawke just to get at Fenris. He fiddled with the green tie now on his wrist before closing his eyes and absently moving his fingers through Anders’ hair again.

Anders rolled over and tried to snuggle into that comforting hand, but did not wake. Fenris stiffened on the bed till he realized that no, the mage was not yet conscious, just sleeping, properly sleeping. He let out a relieved breath. Sleep is better than unconsciousness from shock. He froze in place again as the door opened, fingers still in Anders’ hair.

Athenril looked from him to Anders and back with a look that was uncomfortably like she knew something he didn’t. He felt like he was just caught with his hand in someone else’s money pouch. She cleared her throat, “How is he?”

“Over-extended. If you are asking for him to come do healing, then no, he cannot.”

She raised a brow at Fenris’ protective warning tone. “I didn’t ask that.”

“My… apologies,” Fenris winced. “He is suffering the edges of mage shock. I gave him a restorative potion, but I have no other way to help him.”

“What does he need?”

That was a loaded question if ever Fenris heard one. “Much warmer blankets, a hot bath that I know will not happen, and a hot meal… and time to rest and recover.”

“We can do the blankets. I might be able to get him a hot meal, let us know when he wakes. You both did great out there. I want to thank you both for the lives of my people.”

He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, but his attention was deeply rooted in Anders’ health right now.

One of the crew returned half an hour later with a thick flannel quilted blanket stuffed with down and a heavy fur blanket. Fenris bundled them around Anders. He paced and stretched and moved the lyrium through his body. He sat and checked Anders’ temperature and pulse. He waited. He even… hoped. He read more of Anders’ journal to pass the time.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Anders spoke dowsily, “I like the sound of your voice. It is like a great big cat purring.”

“Go back to sleep, Apostate.”

Anders didn’t even bother to open his eyes, just smiled slightly and remained resting.

Upon seeing his name mentioned in the journal, Fenris grew more interested and continued reading aloud. “I nearly laughed myself silly when Fenris griped yet again. ( _I do not gripe, just like I do not do… puppy eyes._ ) We were exploring the Wounded Coast just east of Sunmdermount. Fenris complained, ‘Tr-traip-sing. Traipsing through dirt. Why the Dalish enjoy this, I will never know.’ For all his need to push the rights of slaves and elves as I push the rights of mages, he is such a nobleman snob!” Fenris made an irritated face and grumbled out loud, “I am not. I walk barefoot and not by choice. Why would I want to have dust and gore and dirt and sand and feces between my toes? It is disgusting. Grass is spiky and poky. Sand itches. And the blighted woods have stones and twigs. Even this ship. I cannot get these splinters out.”

Anders sniggers softly and tiredly. “See… a snob. But keep reading.” His comment earned him a scowl, but his eyes were still closed, so it had no effect on him, not that Fenris’ scowls ever really did anymore.

Fenris read on, “He won’t wear shoes, but is repeatedly disgusted by the things in the world he has to walk through, like grass and sand. And for all his hate of me, he will be perfectly compliant while I pluck out splinters from the soles of his feet and heal them. He is vi-vi… viscous?”

“Vi-shhh-ous… vicious,” corrected Anders, carefully sounding out the word for Fenris to see how the letters made which sounds and what it should be all together.

“…viscious death on litt… lie…” Here were new words for him he could not figure out.

“Lithe. It means flexible and limber, yet athletic and strong, and for those of us who really like that look, it means sexy.”

Fenris coughed, embarrassed, especially coming from the apostate. From Hawke, he would have appreciated the compliment. From Anders, it was… strange, awkward. He almost skipped the page, but curiosity simply got the best of him as he reread the sentence, ears burning red, “He is vi-scious death on lithe long legs meant for walking in fancy homes with marble floors. I wonder if he will let me massage… his… feet.” Fenris stopped there pondering the sentence as if it were a question just asked of him.

“I am still resting, won’t do any magic, but I can do that… and pull the splinters out again, if you get the general healing salve from my bag. Will you?”

Now the question was official. He refused to look at the mage, but moved his feet off the bed and went in search of the salve. Anders sat up slowly, still exhausted. He leaned his back against one wall and crossed his legs. Fenris sat back on the bed, handing Anders the salve. He leaned against the opposite wall. After a moment or three, he cautiously put one foot in Anders’ lap, then the other. Practiced hands roamed over his feet and pulled splinters. Then Anders rubbed the salve into Fenris’ soles.

Anders smiled gently when he heard a soft sigh from Fenris. “I am trying not to touch the brands, but I could do better if I did.”

Fenris tensed and took some controlling breaths to focus away impending sensations. Only then did he agree. Anders began to massage his feet properly, rubbing his thumb into the underside of the arch, and working out the aches. Fenris relaxed a little at a time as it felt like his whole body was being soothed.

“Did you know that nerves in your feet can inform a healer of all parts of your body and thus allow him to address them?” Anders clarified, “Like if I rub here on your arch, I can help ease your spine. Or here on the far side of your foot, I can ease your shoulders.” He continued describing, but knew Fenris was no longer listening. Anders smiled to himself. “You know, Fenris, I can do this for hands too. If touching your body with the brands is just too much, too overwhelming. I can still help this way. No magic involved.”

“I might consent,” purred Fenris. He moved his feet out of Anders lap and stood. “Right now, since you are awake, you should eat something. I will be back soon.”

After once again sharing a plate as it had become habit, Anders curled back up to rest more at Fenris’ recommendation. “Only if you keep reading.”

“Fine.” Fenris tucked his toes under the blanket again and opened up the journal. The next several pages seemed to have been Anders’ various observations of Fenris. “Were you making a study of me or something? I am not an animal for experimentation or to be stared at in some circus of your mind.”

Anders sighed and turned enough to see Fenris, “Yes, I was making a study of you. I was trying to understand you. The better I know someone, the easier it is to heal them and time what spells will help most and when in battle. It is especially important for the healing.”

“Why?”

“Because you have to understand, accept and love everything you heal unconditionally in order to be a good healer. The magic has to be able to flow openly from the healer, who must be also open to sense where that healing magic needs to go most. If I held onto my frustration with you and clung to hating you, I would only be a mediocre healer and it would waste so much extra energy healing you because I would have to fight through my own blocks of anger. Anger… poisons and twists you up inside.”

 _Love?_ Fenris almost gaped at Anders. _Stupid apostate._

“And in the end, I found that you were not actually a cold vicious rabid beast that needed to be put down before he turned on his friends. I discovered that you were a completely normal animal, like all humans and elves. Perfectly normal. And I understood too about your reactions being the result of what had been done to you. I had to sometimes remind myself that you were not mad at me. You were mad at Danarius and terrified that I might become like him. It meant a lot to know you were afraid FOR me. It meant you cared on some level. And it gave me so much more desire to prove to you that I would not. I held onto that as one of my reasons to fight for control. I never want to become an abomination. And I never want to turn out like Danarius.”

Fenris forgot to breathe through Anders words and took in a hard shuddering breath. Normal… no one has ever considered Fenris… normal. He had always been… a freak. “Don’t go flirting with me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I know that I am nothing you want.” Anders rolled over, back to Fenris and chose to return to sleep.

Fenris wasn’t sure why Anders turning his back on him after those last words bothered him so much, but it did. It continued to bother him for the rest of the evening. He decided to read again after he was certain Anders was deeply asleep. He was reading about one of the adventures of Hawke at the docks when he drifted to sleep himself, remembering the moment.

_(Dock sewer!?! Must he grin like a child with a forbidden toy just because he found a dock side sewer unlocked? So what does he do? He opens it! With the intension of going inside to explore! As if the fish smell here in the Docks District was not bad enough. Then he wants me to follow him… down there… where is smells WORSE than Darktown! The things I do for this man!)_

He stirred awake when Anders started to have a night terror. He reached down and stroked through Anders’ hair. The mage calmed and slept easily again. ( _I do not know what I want.)_ Sometimes he still thinks he wants Hawke. But that ache had faded a great deal over the last six months of having Anders living with him.

 


	14. Of Private Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of Hadriana, Leandra's death, Templar Knight Alrik, and Feynriel in the Fade.

Fenris had thought, and sometimes still does think, he wants Hawke. But that ache has faded a great deal over the last six months of having Anders living with him. They had stepped through each other’s private moments at Hawke’s behest and even more so when it came to Hawke’s own private moment.

**~~~ Flashback alternating Fenris’ perspective is in bold and Anders’ perspective is in italics:**

**I don’t know why Hawke brought the abomination with us. This was MY issue. I asked Hawke to come, not… the abomination. It was… private! It was… Hadriana, Danarius’ apprentice, the woman who tormented every waking moment of my remembered life. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, and hound my sleep. I just… I did not want that abomination involved in my personal life! I liked following Hawke. Why could it not just be him and I? Maybe I am not good enough for him. I had told Hawke what I could tell no one else… my past, what I remember of it. I told him of how Danarius abandoned me, of the Fog Warriors taking me in, of my betrayal and escape. I had told him about Danarius and Hadriana and about how I got my markings.**

**I demanded from Hawke to know why he brought the abomination. I did not care that Anders was right there. The abomination said nothing, just looked at me. I could not look back. I was so angry and my insides hurt in ways I thought only Hawke might understand. Besides, my question was for Hawke, who merely replied, “Because… you need him.”**

**I NEED HIM?!**

**NO! I do NOT need him! He is possessed, a mage… two steps from being what they are!**

**“We all need healing sometimes Fenris. You’ll understand one day.” I could have hit Hawke for that, but… he always seemed to be right.**

_I can’t believe they are still after Fenris. It has been three years! Just cut your losses and move on, Maker’s breath. Hadriana, an apprentice to Danarius, came to Kirkwall with her apprentices and even her slaves. I suppose they all bring slaves like luggage on journeys. And yet slaves, here… in the Free Marches. I should not be surprised. We’ve fought slavers before in the area. Just not ones so well trained in magic nor so determined to take away one of our party members into slavery. Fenris is as hunted as I._

_I wish he hated me less. I wish we could be friends… or at least wish he could see that I am not like those magisters and that we are on the same side and hating for the same reasons. Not all mages become magisters who use blood magic. Some of us… just want to be quiet healers._

**Hadriana told me of my sister. That she lives. That her name is Varania. That she is not a slave but a servant. “GRRRR! What does magic touch that it does not spoil!”**

_For all he has been through, for the cruelties he has had at the hands of Tevinter mages, I can understand his sentiment. It is my own for Templars for similar reasons. I wish though, that I could show Fenris some of the beautiful things that can come of magic, show him what magic does not spoil. I wish he could realize it every time I heal him. That he is beautiful. Does he hate himself so much?_

**When that mage killed Hawke’s mother, I wanted to curse and yell at him that THIS is what magic does! Magic corrupts and destroys all in our lives, especially the things that are most dear. Just see what Hadriana has done! What Danarius has done!**

**But as I approached his room where he mourned alone in silence, his uncle invaded to tell him exactly my own words, and they only seemed to hurt Hawke more. His mother… loved a mage. Bethany was a mage. What place did my words have? Hawke reminded his uncle, and thus also me, that it was not magic but a madman who killed his mother. Magic was but the tool, the tool could just as easily have been a knife. Hawke is right. As always.**

**I saw Hawke sit upon his bed, face in his hands. I felt… awkward, like I did not belong. It was Anders who insisted I go in. Or he would instead of me, if I was too much the coward in the face of that much emotion. He will after me anyways, for Hawke did not deserve to suffer this alone. The abomination spoke words I could not argue for once, but what could I offer Hawke? I stopped just a few paces in the room. “I… don’t know what to say, but… I am here.” It was all I could do. I expected him to throw me out and demand to be alone. He almost did. He had every right since it was I who left him that night we were together without very much explanation. The anguish in his eyes asked me if this death was his fault as he had confessed to his uncle.**

**But instead, he asked me of my mother. I sat on the bed beside him, “I don’t know where she is. I have… little memory of her. At least, you knew your mother.” I could offer nothing more, no comfort, and that is really what he needed. How could I manage to offer what I desperately wanted myself? In the growing silence, I simply stood and left, giving in to the first feelings of helpless failure.**

**The abomination met me in the entry of Hawke’s estate. I could not lift my eyes, or find voice to snarl at him. His gentle words touched places inside me that hurt more than my skin. “You tried, Fenris. I am sure he appreciated it.” How could he speak so … so… reassuringly to me, despite his desires to be first in Hawke’s life? How is it he can be compassionate like this?**

**“I am not what he needs,” I spoke my realization. Hawke needed the warmth and compassion Anders could give all his patients and friends. But we are not friends, I do not deserve it. I gestured for him to go see Hawke. He was a healer. Maybe he could heal this. I’m just… a vicious killer. How can my presence alone bring any comfort? And I knew I would lose Hawke to the abomination for this. I hope we can still be friends….**

_I walked into the room and saw it well, the shock of loss, the wonder of blame. I had seen it often in the clinic. If I were less honorable, this would be a chance to take advantage and pull Hawke away from Fenris, but he loved Fenris and his hand gentles the elf. And I think, I think Fenris was hurting just as much by this. He doesn’t know what to do or how to help. I am an honorable healer. I strode in without hesitation and sat upon the bed. When I put my arm around his shoulders, Hawke leaned into me and wept. Words were not needed. If only Fenris understood that. Sometimes when the world seems against us, and all the good things in our lives are taken away, we only need someone to hold us tight because we feel like we will fall to pieces. It is the support a good friend gives. Only after the tears stopped did we talk, as I would to any patient. Exploring the feelings of loss, understanding the situation, remembering the good things of his mother and the strength he can draw from this. “She is not gone, not ever, but part of you. Here.” I touched his brow so he understood it meant in his mind. “And here.” I touched his chest so he understood in his heart. “You are not alone, Hawke. Varric and I and Fenris are here for you always. Even Aveline and Isabella and Merril. Come out for a drink with us at the Hanged Man.” He did. And things smoothed from there._

_They were former lovers, I think. I am not even sure they got that far. Neither speak of the night Fenris stayed over at Hawke’s. Fenris hates being touched. Bethany told me it is because his lyrium brands still hurt, might forever hurt. I have healed him so many times in battle, but I can’t heal that, and can’t take away that pain. He won’t let me try. I think he would kill me if I really tried. When I comforted Hawke, he wept for maybe the first time since he left Fereldan. Hawke and I grew closer after that night. Hawke needs to touch and be touched. Everyone does really. I… I think I trust him enough for that. He already knows my dark possessed side. He might as well learn what broke me. Alrik broke me._

_All was back to normal, until I got news that caused Justice to take over for I don’t know how long or even who died, if anyone. I had been sneaking through a secret passage under the Gallows to help mages escape. I never questioned who helped them get to the passage but had a suspicion that it was perhaps Ser Thrask, one of the few Templars who was not bad like the rest. One of the mages I helped out recently told me about the many Tranquil in the Gallows, more and more every day, good mages who have done nothing wrong. They told me of a push for a “Tranquil Solution, a three-year plan to make all mages in Kirkwall Tranquil” that was being brought to the Knight-Commander, the High Cleric and even the Divine herself. The worst news was that this was from Ser Alrik. Ser Alrik. The cruel bastard that did the rite on Karl. He… likes to make mages beg. I know his work… first hand. Ser Alrik is a sadistic bastard, cold-blooded. He likes to… experiment on mages, find out what it takes to push them into the arms of demons. The things he has done in the Circle of the Steppe, to me, and now here._

**It almost sounded like Anders was describing a Tevinter magister experimenting on a slave. He knew details that only one who was victim to them would know. Did he mean first-hand from observation or from… Maker’s breath… experience? No… He’d be Tranquil otherwise.**

_I have so carefully hidden what Alrik has done under my layers of clothing. In the end, with all that, the possession... and the damage that is me… Hawke was still willing to flirt, still liked the package even if I thought I was monstrous. He still wanted me._

_But this?! Alrik, here doing this! We are going to stop him!! Stop him and his “Tranquil Solution.” Justice has been pushing me for this fight. I… I am afraid. I’ve been losing control in small ways, bit by bit. Hawke has been able to coax me back. He is the only light in the dark for me. But this confrontation with Alrik will be right inside the tunnels under the Gallows, amidst Templars, face to face with Alrik… one of my tormentors from my past. I don’t think I can hold Justice back. I don’t know if I should. I don’t even know if I want to._

_And here comes Fenris. Hawke insisted he join us for this. How can Hawke do this to me?! This is personal! I am showing them a secret way into the Gallows. One word from Fenris… and Alrik’s subversive plan will become sanctioned, starting with me! Justice urges me to kill Fenris, but he has done nothing to warrant it. He hates… says he hates me, but really hates Danarius and what I might become. Right now, I fear I will justify Fenris’ claims._

_I asked Hawke why Fenris had to come, on a mission that was so private to me with so much risk. He said, “First, it is only fair since you were there when we faced Hadriana. And second, because you need him.”_

_I do?! Hawke often shows more wisdom than people give him credit for. Vengeance boiled under the surface of my thoughts, but I consented. I trust Hawke’s judgement. I have to, I don’t trust my own._

**Seems like the Templars in Kirkwall are addicted to lyrium and power just as the mages in Tevinter are addicted to power and blood magic. When we found Ser Alrik, he was in the middle to tormenting a mage. I thought I was looking upon a male version of Hadriana. And out comes Justice to almost kill even the innocent mage, the very person he was trying to protect.**

**Hawke managed, just barely, to talk him down, calm him enough for the poor girl to run. Did I just call that mage a poor girl? Anders looked so stricken. He bolted back to Darktown. All I could think of was that he was going to do one of two things, or maybe even both. Run away from Kirkwall, or kill himself. I wonder if that is how I looked when I ran from what I did to the Fog Warriors. I warned Hawke, who of course went after him. I hung in the background, staying out of sight.**

**We had found a letter on Ser Alrik that Anders really needed to see. He was in his clinic, packing and purging his few belonging. I knew he would run. Coward. Running away from us, from Hawke who might be able to do him some good and me, I can keep an eye on him and deal with him if he is truly lost.**

_Hawke found me. I was so scared, so… What have I done? This was almost as bad as Ameranthine. What might I do? I had to get away, far away where I won’t hurt anyone. Hawke stopped me. My mind was a mouse trapped in a barrel running frightened circles. He bade me read the letter he found about the Tranquil Solution. I did and was stunned! Ser Alrik’s plan was deemed illegal, because it suggested breaking Chantry Law. It was turned down by Knight-Commander Meredith and the Grand Cleric! Maybe they aren’t so bad? But who allowed so much of this to happen so far? Why is there no investigation?_

**_Hawke convinced him to stay. Damned abomination. ‘I can control it!’ he says. That was a fine example of control back there._ **

_Why must he always taunt me? Fenris really hates me, he must. I can control Justice. I must. Hawke will help me. Maker please. I need to control this. Help me please, Maker. I do not want to become everything Fenris thinks I am or will be._

**‘Just say NO’, he told us as we entered the Fade. The mage abomination who was already possessed dared speak of this? In the Fade where we tried to rescue Feynriel, there was no Anders, just Justice. There was no Vengeance and no Fury. Just plain Justice, who sounded very much like he wanted to return to the Fade and be free of Anders. Food for thought and maybe a private talk later with Hawke and Marethari, the Dalish Keeper. What would happen if I killed Justice/Anders here in the Fade?**

**I never really got to think much on that. We encountered strong demons trying to control Feynriel and some who wanted us. Justice being present meant nothing else could tempt Anders. Varric is too content with his life to be tempted. And amazingly, Hawke could not be swayed. I thought I was as strong. But… I was not. Here I failed Hawke a second time. I gave in to temptation for a chance to face the magisters on equal footing. The demon turned me on Hawke and Hawke… slew me… in the Fade.**

**I woke gasping and screaming. The Keeper sat among us and reassured me that I was fine. I was not fine. I gave in to a demon. I didn’t say “no” as Anders had advised. What if I was now possessed? The Keeper assured me that it does not work that way, but I was still lucky. Lucky… I almost ruined everything. I turned on Hawke and tried to kill him. I failed him, and our whole group. They counted on me. This cannot happen again, must not.**

**I apologized to Hawke after. He seemed fine with everything. I cannot dare think I might have a relationship with him. How could he want me after that? What if I end up facing Danarius? What if Danarius bids me kill Hawke as he bade me kill the Fog Warriors? No, I cannot risk that.**

**And… Vanhedis! Anders and Hawke kissed! More than! I should have figured. After me, he’d been with Merril early on and with Isabela whenever she could convince him. Now, he is with Anders, though more seriously with him. I don’t know whether to think that a good thing or hate the abomination even more!**

**~ Present day on Athenril’s ship.**

Each situation changed their relationships with each other forever, or so Fenris thought till he moved Anders into his own mansion.

 


	15. Lost

**~ Three years ago.**

Fenris' friendship with Hawke didn’t seem to change very much. His friendships with everyone seemed about the same. Varric invited him out to play Wicked Grace often, “Come on my Broody elf friend, see if you can win back some of that coin,” just to get him out of the run-down mansion. Merril made faces at him or teased him, “There you go again, giving Hawke puppy eyes when his back is turned.” Thankfully Aveline never made embarrassing comments. She once asked how he felt about Anders moving in with Hawke. His only reply was that he hoped it was good, for both of them. And it seemed so over the three years since the death of the Arishok and Hawke being named Champion of Kirkwall. However, it was just too strange to continue lessons in reading from Hawke with Anders there, so he stopped. It was just too awkward as Templars and Mages started to genuinely clash in the absence of a Viscount and with Hawke supporting mages in this conflict. Fenris still felt Templars were right in many ways, just not in the execution of their role and the force of their power. He didn’t think the system should be abolished as Anders did. Maybe just a re-evaluation and revamping somehow, not that bringing the issue up was good for anyone’s mood.

He had noted that Anders had more frequent mood swings. But what did that mean? He was quieter with Hawke around; and darkly pensive when he was not. Something was about to boil over and it might have to do with the moving in, such great changes did strange things to some people. Fenris watched, not wanting to see Hawke hurt by Anders turning all Vengeance on him in the middle of the night. Even Varric had noticed.

His comment when they took a trip into the Gallows never left Fenris’ mind. “Hey Blondie, you are giving the elf a run for his coin in the brooding department.” Varric had first tried to make a good light comment about ways to deal damage to Templars, but Anders only grumbled. “Oh, hey… Justice, can Anders please come out and play? We miss him.”

In his worry, Fenris stole Anders’ recent journal and brought it to Varric to see if there was anything in it that hinted at Anders losing control and becoming an abomination. Varric highly disapproved, but he sure didn’t refuse to peruse it. Fenris sat with a pint of good ale and watched Varric like a hawk. Pun not intended. He was amazed at how swiftly Varric’s eyes flew over the words. “Oh my… by Andraste’s perky tits!” blurted Varric.

“What?!” Fenris was on his feet ready to tear Anders apart.

“We have to find Anders… listen to this. ‘I am grateful for all that everyone has done to help keep me and the clinic safe. But some things are getting too hard to fight. I feel that I am losing the struggle. I am tired. So very tired. Tired of the tension between me and Fenris. Tired of trying to prove how terrible the Templars are. I thought Alrik would have been proof enough, but I managed to prove the counter argument. I am tired of all the extra work it takes to free mages who often die anyways or give in to blood magic when the Templars come hunting them. Tired… of everything. Tired of Justice. I never want to hurt Hawke. But maybe it is time to take myself out of the picture.’”

“He’s going to run. It will hurt Hawke,” Fenris sat again thinking Anders the coward. He wouldn’t turn to the alternative. Suicide is wrong even in the Maker’s eyes. But, Fenris remembered a stray comment long ago. Anders had asked Fenris if he had ever thought about killing himself when he was a slave. Was he thinking about it back then? Is he honestly thinking about it now? He dared not voice the possibility.

When Hawke arrived with a cheery hello to such serious looks, he asked what was up and was handed the journal. Fenris never thought he would see Hawke go white for a third time. The first was when Bethany collapsed from darkspawn taint. Thanks to Anders she survived and is now a Grey Warden. The second was when Hawke’s mother died. Thanks again to Anders who knew how to be just the right comfort for Hawke. And now again… Hawke bolted out the door with Varric and Fenris close behind. Varric could hardly keep up with the long-legged human and elf.

They arrived at the Hawke estate with a bang of the front door and tripping over Indi, the mabari, who was whining all distressed. Bodhan was trying to calm the dog. Orana came from a side room with a curtain to wash. “Where is Anders!” demanded Hawke, startling the poor little ex-slave.

She bowed her head swiftly not wanting to be in trouble, “He is upstairs practicing blood magic, Master.” She spoke so casually like this was nothing new. Where she came from, of course it was nothing new. She would not see how this was a problem.

Varric and Fenris drew weapons and turned back to back in case demons or worse rose from the floor as Hawke took the stairs three at a time. “AH! Oh Maker! ANDERS! NOOOooo! ANDERS!” Fenris looked up the stairs at the near hysterical yelling from Hawke. “FENRIS! HELP!”

Lyrium lit his skin and he blurred into the room. Blood. Anders was collapsed on the floor, a vial of something unknown, dusted with lyrium was empty on the floor and his left arm was gashed open with a knife and bleeding out. And it looked like it was not the first time Anders had attempted this, though the scars looked very old. The fresh cuts though would be lethal very soon without help. Hawke tried to clamp his hands over the wounds. Blood swelled up between his fingers. “Fenris… please…”

Fenris could not handle the begging. He dropped to his knees and tied his red strip of cloth from Hawke around Anders’ upper elbow tightly, then covered the wounds with his own hands, “Get healing potions and towels. I’ll stay with him.” It was the best he could do since he did not know where to find these things in Hawke’s home.

Hawke hesitated only a second. Then he dashed from the room in search of the supplies.

“I know you would not turn to blood magic, apostate. But this was beyond stupid. How do you think you have made Hawke feel? I would kill you myself now for it, but I refuse to kill someone for being stupid, even you.” Fenris listened for Hawke. “Hang in there. Justice… if you are listening… you might want to make sure Anders does not render your vessel a corpse.”

Glowing eyes snapped open. They surveyed the scene then locked on the elf. “Noted.” And started self-healing, but passed out from blood loss too soon to complete the spell. Hawke dropped down beside Fenris with the potion and poured one kind over the wound and forced Anders to drink the second one. As the bleeding stopped, they both cleaned Anders up and got him into the bed.

Fenris shifted guiltily from foot to foot. “Hawke. I am sorry. I suspected something, but not really this. I think he will be fine now. I am going to get a strong drink. Want me and Varric to stay?”

Hawke just shook his head. “No. Don’t stay, but please come back tomorrow. And… leave the journal. Thank you for keeping an eye on him.”

“I promised I would.” Fenris left with Varric, explaining in brief what happened and welcomed strong Antivan liquor. It was just not strong enough, but would have to do at the moment. This was a turning point. He knew it. He wondered if calling upon Justice for Anders was the wrong thing to do. He worried that in trying to save Anders’ life, he might have given the spirit a stronger hold since Anders was in such a weakened state. Only time would tell.

All seemed to recover from the incident, though Anders was never left alone again. Fenris and Anders clashed a few times, though Fenris actively tried to gentle himself. After reading the journal and seeing his name there, it made him feel somewhat responsible for what happened. He tried to choose his words with more care, if for no other reason that for Hawke.

They fought about mages again. Mages and Templars and who goes too far. Fenris threw a low blow, “Talk to Hawke about his mother. Ask him who went ‘too far’.”

“You can’t hold all mages responsible for that!” declared Anders.

Fenris snorted, “I don’t, only the weak ones.”

“Not all mages are weak,” countered Anders.

They stopped walking and Fenris crossed his arms, “True. Bethany, for instance, is not weak.”

Anders frowned, “You specifically do not mention me.”

“That is also true,” shrugged Fenris about to walk on.

Anders clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to relax them. “I’ll prove to you that I am not weak.”

Fenris turned a much milder look upon Anders and said as gently as he could, “Prove it to yourself first.”

Such banter was not uncommon, especially with Anders as moody as he was. The elf and mage even got nose to nose arguing about their relationship with Hawke and who left or slept with him and why and who was right or wrong. Isabella rolled her eyes. “Oh will you two get over yourselves? I did him too!” It stopped the argument right quick as both men stared gaping at her then at Hawke then at her again. She gently tapped Anders chin with a finger. Fenris turned his back quickly. Anders’ shoulders sagged. Thankfully they met up with Hawke at the Foundry to try to get the relic. It was unfortunate that Isabella ran off with it to save her own skin. Though, later she would bring it back to the Qunari.

While it was relatively common knowledge that Anders was living now full time with Hawke and not just spending the night there now and then, Fenris rounded on the mage with a firm but non-aggressive tone, “So, you are fully living with him now?”

“What’s it to you?!” Anders responded defensively.

Fenris took a slow breath before speaking, “Be good to him. Don’t break his heart… or I will kill you.”

Anders stood unmoving for a long while after Fenris walked away from him. It was the gentlest the elf had ever been to him and it twisted in his gut a little what he had already put into motion. Somewhere deep inside, the guilt gnawed at him, he screamed, he begged, but never did the words become voiced. ( _Fenris! FENRIS! Help me! Stop me! Please!!! Kill me before it is too late!)_

Anders moved out of Hawke’s place not too long after that. No one was quite sure of the reasons or who initiated the decision.

Anders had said, “It’s better this way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hawke stiffly rebutted, “Yeah, better. I can’t control you, anyways.”

Anders turned and left for the clinic muttering under his breath, “No, you can’t because you won’t.”

Fenris was of two minds on this. Part of him was thrilled. Maybe Hawke had seen reason. Maybe he and Hawke could rekindle things, if he pretended real hard that Hawke was not promiscuous. How Anders dealt with it, Fenris did not know. Actually, maybe he did know. Anders was a desperate soul. But Anders needed exclusivity and Hawke could not give that. Same reason Fenris was not with Hawke. He wanted exclusivity and would never get it from Hawke.

It was yet another moment where he thought that maybe Anders really was lost to them. This was not the Anders he expected. Then again, maybe he had been wrong about the mage all along, not the first time he had that thought.

 


	16. Moving In

Each situation changed their relationships with each other forever, or so Fenris thought till he moved Anders into his own mansion.

**~~~ Six months ago.**

Anders moving in… well more like moving Anders in, because the mage was still not very coherent to give consent, happened out of necessity. Sort of. Fenris had asked Orana to arrange to have Anders’ belongings sent over from Hawke’s estate. The mage had not been there in many months. Fenris understood what it was like to not have anything that you could call yours, and figured it was too awkward for Anders to go there after what happened. It explained also why Anders only had one change of basic clothing. He hadn’t really been thinking when he asked, and now that Anders was safely settled in Fenris’ bed and he could hear Bodhan and Orana in the house moving things in the room next to his, he wondered what the hell he was thinking.

Absently, Fenris wondered when he stopped referring to Anders as Abomination and instead called him Apostate or Mage. He shoved the question to the back of his head and walked over to lean around the door frame of the other room to inspect the progress. Bodhan and Sandal carried piles of books and put them onto a shelf without any concern to order. There was a trunk now in the room that Fenris recalled had been in Hawke’s bedroom. Orana was moving the few items of clothing from it into a wardrobe. “I thought he had more personal effects,” commented Fenris.

Both Bodhan and Orana jumped, unaccustomed to Fenris’ silent steps and quiet lurking. It was Orana who recovered first. “Master?” Not sure if she should continue calling him Messere. “Messere,” she corrected when he grimaced in distaste. “He never had much. Some clothes, little soft leather books he writes in, and a few books he reads. I thought, maybe I have overstepped, but I thought Master Hawke would not mind if we brought the books related to magic here as Messere Anders used to read them often.”

“That is fine. I doubt Hawke would mind either. Good thinking, Orana.” He wandered into the room. With the house all fixed up, he had needed time to get used to it all over again. He looked at the spines of the books, barely making out some of the titles with his very limited ability to read. He then gazed down into the trunk expecting mage-y things like pouches of strange powders and the various usual paraphernalia the mages he was used to had. It was pretty sparse. “He must have more things in the back room of his clinic.”

He didn’t want to leave Anders just yet. The blond man still shivered on and off under the blankets. Fenris had slept in the arm chair he moved near the bed. It is where he returned after the initial inspection of the room, still disbelieving he just decided to move a mage… a MAGE… THIS mage… into his mansion.

It was about three more days before Anders was able to really be up and about without supervision. He still could not do much magic and still grew tired swiftly. That was due to the lyrium poisoning from drinking too many to try to compensate for burning out his mana. Fenris continued to follow the “Fereldan custom” of sharing the tray and plate of food. Anders never said anything about it, but then he was still recovering. He complained about being there, that he should be in the clinic and not taking up Fenris’ bed.

Living/recovering arrangements became the first argument they had. It was ended with Anders being dragged out of the room and dumped in the other room and Fenris walking out to get some air.

Fenris stood outside ignoring the general populous, at least till Varric sauntered up. “Trouble in paradise, my friend?”

“I go through all this trouble to make sure he is healthy, safe, not dead… and now I want to kill him.”

“Well, you did make decisions for him without his consent. And he does know you are watching him for repeated… uh… incidents. Ever think that he might feel like he traded Templars and the Circle for you and your mansion?” Varric leaned on the wall beside Fenris.

The elf frowned deeply. Varric’s words made too much sense. “That was not my intent. I was trying to… to… he had nothing. All his stuff was in Hawke’s where he won’t go. And what he has in the clinic is… only healing supplies for others. He doesn’t even have a staff. I was trying to be…” Fenris wasn’t sure of the word he wanted to use.

“Considerate?” supplied Varric.

Fenris grunted a non-committal ascent.

“Is he well enough to come out to the Hanged Man? It might be good for us all to get together and drink and play diamond back or wicked grace.” He pushed off from the wall. “And I sure would like to know what you two have been doing in there together.”

“Nothing of import, get your mind out of the Undercity.”

Varric laughed and waved at him, “Well if you need anything, let me know.”

“What… would put the mage at ease?” That felt like the weirdest question he had ever needed to ask.

Varric raised a brow. “Other than a cat? How about you ask Blondie? I bet that alone would put him at ease.”

It was somewhat embarrassing to have the obvious tossed at him because he hadn’t see it. He watched Varric’s back till the dwarf turned a corner. Fenris heaved a heavy sigh and pinched between his eyes, then went back inside to seek out the apostate.

Varric smiled to himself. He had been watching those two evolve around Hawke over the years. Hawke once told him, “They are opposite enough to be attracted and similar enough to be compatible. Love to have them both in my bed, but that won’t happen anytime soon.” In another random conversation with Hawke, Hawke had mentioned with all seriousness, “Those two need each other more than they know. I don’t know if I am the bridge or the barrier.” Varric thought Hawke might actually be both. And now… the mage had been moved in with the warrior. This was already an amazing story. He decided with a chuckle to increase Orana’s pay because she will likely need to do a great deal of extra clean up after the fights that will happen while Anders and Fenris come to agreeable living terms.

Anders, having been dumped in the new room with no grace whatsoever, stood too angry and stunned to move or yell. He dared not snap in case that brought out Justice… or more likely Vengeance. And honestly, he didn’t have the energy to squabble. He just felt like his freedom had been snatched out from under him. The anger drained away as he thought more seriously on this and realized that he likely didn’t deserve that freedom. Was Fenris that bad? Had Fenris actually tried to stop him from doing anything he wanted to do, or from going somewhere he wanted to go? No, not unless there was trouble of the Templar or fanatic anti-mage sort.

The mage left the room for a few moments to peak down the stairs. He expected to see broken tiles, moldy walls, smashed alcohol bottles, now-dry rotted dead bodies. But he didn’t. The whole place was… clean. It looked like a normal mansion, a bit devoid of life, sparse in the furnishings. Fenris was actually starting to really settle in. It reassured Anders some. He did not want to have to be in a place worse than Darktown. A stray thought bounded through his mind, ( _Maybe I could get a cat?)_ He doubted it. This was not his home. It was probably very temporary. Fenris would never want him there for long. It was just till he was fully recovered, then he would be booted back to the clinic.

He walked back into the room Fenris dumped him in. It was large. The bathroom he had been using was shared between them; and he thought the other door went to some linen closet. There was a decent sized bed, though not like the opulent one he shared with Hawke when he lived with the Champion. Books from his personal collection and a selection from the Hawke estate were on a shelf. The urge to put them in proper order niggled in the back of his mind. He resisted. The table beside the shelf had his journals piled on a corner. He ran a finger along the edge of the latest one that he had abandoned when he and Hawke broke up. He wondered if he should start journaling again.

He turned from the journal with a sigh and opened the wardrobe. Oh look! All his clothes… all… two sets. Both mage armored coats hung there, the lighter one and the darker one, clean. Two sets of small clothes, the silk ones he had bought with Hawke but in the end never really used. And the usual: a long-sleeved high-neck shirt, a heavy sweater, two tough and rugged pairs of pants, the belts and pouches he had when he was taken from the clinic, and two sets of sleep clothes. All were clean and mended, Orana’s handiwork. Even the socks were in neat little balls. All from Hawke’s place except for the clothes he arrived here in. He was wearing sleep clothes that only somewhat fit him. It exposed some of his neck and definitely his wrists which made him very uncomfortable. He was about to change, but decided since he was alone, he would finish his exploration.

Last was the trunk which he stroked then opened to find it contained the barest few potions and supplies for their missions that were unique to his needs for the group. All these things were again from Hawke’s. So strange. His gut clenched and his heart ached. He was surrounded by everything that reminded him of Hawke. With a snarl edged with Vengeance, he turned over the trunk and then swept the journals off the table in a storm of fluttering pages and thuds. Then sank into the chair at the table and buried his face in his arms.

Fenris has been silently standing in the door watching him. He was reminded of when Hawke lost his mother and how awkward that felt, how he had no words of comfort and did not know what to do. He had learned since that leaving was the wrong thing, so he chose the opposite now. “I did not do this to upset you. I had hoped… you would appreciate having your belongings.” He took a few more steps into the room. “You are not a prisoner here. But you are safer here than in the clinic.” Anders only turned his head in his arms to face away from Fenris, hiding his raw emotions. “I… How can I help? What do you need to be… comfortable here?”

Anders lifted his head, disbelieving his ears and looked at Fenris with red-rimmed eyes. “You actually want me here?”

Did he? Fenris was still on the fence about that. Instead, he answered, “Yes. I have done a piss poor job of protecting you. And this way, I will never forget my duty.”

Anders looked away. Duty. It was not that Fenris wanted him there after all.

Sensing he screwed up with his words, he tried to amend. “I want you here. It is… lonely in this mansion. Neither of us should be so alone.” It took so much effort to get those words out around the awkwardness that wanted to tangle his tongue. “So I ask again, what do you need? I will get it. Anything from the clinic?”

Anders took a deep breath reigning in his emotions and anxiety. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I have a backpack with some personal things in the clinic and a pillow my mother embroidered for me. It was the only thing I was permitted to keep when they dragged me off to the Circle.”

“I will get it. Varric invited us out to the Hanged Man. If you feel well enough to go, then be dressed when I return.” He left on his new mission. Anders had something from his mother. Fenris envied that somewhat since he had nothing from his own. Templars had destroyed everything else of Anders life as surely as Mages did Fenris’.

Anders spent the rest of the afternoon righting the mess he made of the trunk contents, organizing the journals and setting up writing tools to continue journaling, properly categorizing the books and alphabetizing them. And yes, he dressed, minus the coat.

Fenris returned hours later with Anders’ backpack over his shoulder and a tray of food that smelled so good it made the mouth water. Anders claimed the pack and set it on the trunk to sort later, once he verified his pillow was still inside. Fenris set the tray down on a smaller table and pulled over two lounge chairs. Anders came to sit with him, every step a bit hesitant, waiting for the other boot to drop and this to all explode in his face. The tray held meat stuffed buns and potato-vegetable stuffed samosas and a bowl of dipping sauce. They had shared a tray of food every meal for the last few days, but this is the first one where Anders was completely coherent for it.

“Why are you sharing a plate with me?” Anders asked warily.

Fenris paused, deciding to answer before putting the last morsel of samosa in his mouth. “Orana said it was a Fereldan custom. It was the only way I was able to calm you and make sure you ate while you were suffering the mage shock.”

“And now?”

Fenris shrugged. “Is it a problem?”

This time it was Anders who felt incredibly awkward, “uh… no. But we shouldn’t do this in public.”

“Ah, like it is inappropriate to put my feet on the table in the Hanged Man but alright in my home.”

Anders clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from spewing his food when he laughed.

While Fenris worried that this was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, this moment where Anders laughed for the first time in… months? No… since even before Anders broke up with Hawke. Fenris thought, maybe, just maybe, this won’t be so bad, having company in the mansion. Trouble would be with how everyone else perceived this arrangement.

_(SIGH! Don’t you all have something better to think about?!)_


	17. Family Matters

The ship rocked easily on the waves and yet leaned enough for Fenris to know it was turning. He eased himself from the bed and rummaged through Anders’ pack digging out the simple pillow with the worn embroidered design. His fingers traced the pattern recalling when he brought it to Anders in their shared mansion. Anders had family, somewhere, the... Anderfels, wherever that is. He tucked the pillow into Anders’ hands and watched the mage snuggle it.

Anders had family. Albeit, perhaps not the best family considering what Fenris read in the journal about Anders father. He sat again on the bed and flipped back to that part of the journal. Anders had a father and a mother. Fenris wondered if they still lived. Maybe they could visit Anders’ family. Then he recalled that Anders boys become priests, warriors, or Templars. A mage is unwelcome. Anders’ mother must have loved him though for Anders to cling to that pillow so. And the Templars tore that love away. Magisters destroyed Fenris’ family. Tore him from his slave mother. Who knew where she was or even if she was still alive. Vanaria… Magisters corrupted Vanaria, his sister, into becoming like them with her gift of magic. Tevinter was a twisted place. At least Hawke had family that was not vile. Well, Gamlen might be vile, but not in any true need-to-be-killed kind of way. Bethany was strong and proud and a great Warden. Charade, Hawke’s cousin was a surprisingly good archer and did a fine job of keeping her father on the straight and narrow.

Vanaria was all Fenris really could remember. Snippets really. A garden. Playing with flower petals with Vanaria. Their mother looking on from where she maintained the garden, planting herbs needed for Danarius’ spells. He couldn’t remember his mother’s face. He wondered if Anders’ could remember his parents. Fenris remembered his sister though, now that he had fresher memories of her. That encounter in the Hanged Man, meeting her. It had knotted his stomach, loosed a bunch of moths fluttering in it, and clenched it with distrustful anxiety.

_**~ A year and a half ago from Fenris' POV.** _

_The usual gang approached the Hanged Man. I had asked Hawke to come with me, in case it was a trap. I think he knew though that it was because I was desperately nervous. Varania. My sister. I had spent most of my money, seeking a way to reach her, and then sending her money to travel here. Now I was going to meet her. I practically do not recall her. I cannot remember her face or her voice.  
_

_Hawke warned me that the abomination and Varric were coming along, just in case it was a trap. Slavers had been little match for us these days, unless there were mages or lesser magisters with them. And this place, I chose for our meeting. It was public. It was busy. No one would try anything._

_Varric and Hawke walked in first. At a quick glance in to see it all looked as it always did with the usual drunks, the mage wished me a quiet good luck and decided to stay outside. As much as he grates on every nerve in me, there are moments like this where he is actually… decent. I steeled myself and walked in._

_There she sat at a table, alone. Dressed in a Tevinter style robe. Pretty, with copper hair a shade darker than Aveline’s. She gave me but a cursory glance, “It really is you.” She would not look at me more than that._

_“Varania?” Images, thoughts, memories flooded my mind from forgotten crevices. Gardens, tapestries, and marble floors. Her face darting around the pillars and rose bushes. “I… remember you. We played in our master’s courtyard while Mother worked.” The flood was catching up, though I still could not remember my mother’s face. Varania’s had not changed much. “You called me…” I could not quite grasp the name I was once known by._

_“Leto,” she supplied as she stood gracefully, “That’s your name.” She must have known I lost most of my memory from what was done to me. She averted her eyes once again from meeting me and even took a step away._

_Was I so monstrous to look upon? “What’s wrong? Why are you so-” I must have been too engulfed in the sight of her to see the changes in the room around us._

_“I’ll give you three guesses,” Hawke’s sarcasm yanked me back to the truth, what I was worried would be. The bartender had slunk into his back room, tugging Norah, the waitress, with him into safety. I heard the door there click with their escape. The rest of the room had partially started to clear, taking their cue from the bartender._

_A trap indeed, but definitely not the one I expected, though really should have. Danarius, himself, walked regally down the stairs like he owned the place. “My little wolf,” he called me like an errant child. “Predictable as always.” Was I? Am I?_

_I forgot to breathe. My stomach dropped into my toes and anchored me in place like the slave I was. Only then did Varania face me, taking careful measures to gain a little more distance between us. “I am sorry it came to this, Leto.” She just didn’t really sound that sorry._

_My anger swelled and snapped my frozen moment, “You lead him here,” I snarled at her. Sister… She is worse, way worse than I thought Gamlen was to Hawke._

_“Now now, Fenris. Don’t blame your sister," drawled Danarius. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should.” Citizen?_

_Anger gave me strength. Hawke at my side reminded me of my freedom. FREEDOM! “I never wanted these markings, Danarius. But I won’t let you kill me to get them!”_

_He only chuckled at me, “Oh ho ho, how little you know, my pet.” He looked Hawke up and down, assessing him. I wanted to rip his eyes out for daring. MY HAWKE! Don’t even look at him!! “And this is your new master then? The Champion of Kirwall?”_

_Hawke snapped back at him, “Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone.”_

_“Do I detect a note of jealously? Not surprising. The lad is rather... skilled.” Danarius’ words brought waves of more memories. His touch. The searing pain. The knife in my flesh. The blue-white lyrium. The training till I dropped. The ease at which he had slid his mind into mine and controlled my will. I killed for him. Leto… means ‘I kill’ though he preferred to call me his little wolf for how much I fought him._

_“Shut your mouth, Danarius!” Fenris. My name now is Fenris! I will be the Dread Wolf and tear you apart with my bare hands!! I felt the lyrium hum through me at MY will._

_He sighed like he had been through this before with me. He has. As if bored with the repeated argument, “The word is... Master.” And there he was once more. In my head. Under my skin. The lyrium moving with my limbs at HIS will. I was suddenly a puppet again, staring out my eyes. I recalled when Anders described possession to Merrill as a way to scare her from turning to demons and spirits. It was like that. Like being in a small cage in your mind, seeing and feeling what you are doing, but unable to interfere. Unable even to scream. “Kill the Champion, Fenris.” His command was mildly spoken, but the power behind it stripped the resistance from me. My hand drew my great blade. Just like it did on the Fog Warriors at his command. And I attacked Hawke._

_NOOO!_

_The remaining patrons ran screaming from the tavern. Slavers and Tevinter guards thundered down the stairs to swarm us. I was caught fast in Danarius’ hold. I was a fool to think I could fight him directly, even out of Tevinter. Hawke defended himself against me. I could tell he was trying not to land a killing blow. I wanted him to attack back. I knew his fighting style too well. I would eventually use that knowledge, against my will to end him if he did not end me first. I barely managed one yell. And it was not at all what I thought it would be. “ANDERS!!!”_

_The mage burst through the door; I knew it for the auras he cast on everyone, including me. Then he took on Danarius directly. Was he insane! Of course he was. He was an abomination, a possessed apostate. I staggered with my strings suddenly cut. Maybe not so insane. Danarius had to release his control of me in order to defend himself. This is how he lost me to the Fog Warriors the first time he faced them with their rebellion. Left me wounded and bleeding as he retreated on a ship to recover. A blessed instinct. He could have used me to kill Anders. I might have even wanted to. I just could not repay that freedom from chains with death. No, the mage was remarkably powerful, taking him almost blow for blow. Demons rose around us. Danarius fought Anders all the way up the stairs. I never saw Ander fall. I was too busy trying to stay out of Danarius’ line of sight while fighting what he summoned. I was blown off my feet briefly by the Mythral grenade that Hawke threw to revive Anders. The mage rose with Justice in his eyes and shining in cracks in his skin, “You will not have him!” and he gave chase to Danarius as the demons fell and corpses dragged themselves up through the floor boards of the tavern. If one of us had Anders’ back he would not have fallen and the fight would be over. Danarius would be in my claws with his heart pulsing in my palm and his blood dripping between my fingers._

_Anders… was amazing. May he never know I thought so. Except… He didn’t kill Danarius. And neither did I.  
_

_Danarius got away. Of course he did. He will have learned from this mistake and will not repeat it. Though, it will take time before he tries for me again. I hope he dies of mage shock. The tavern seemed a distant dream as the silence hammered on me. Blood and ichor splattered and oozed everywhere. Hawke! I looked for him. The mage was there casting healing upon wounds that were not caused by me, thank the Maker. “You!” I roared at the apostate, “You let him escape!”_

_“I had no choice. I was tapped out and couldn’t get enough time to drink a lyruim potion since I was fighting him... alone.” Guilt at his words and fury mixed into a terrible poison within me._

_“Hey elf? What should we do with your traitorous sibling? She ought to hook up with my brother! Bartrand and her have so much in common!” Varric reminded me that Varania was still here._

_I turned my rage in her direction. Though she cowered defensively, her voice sounded otherwise, “I had no choice, Leto.”_

_“Stop calling me that!” My name is Fenris!_

_She dared sound accusatory, like her loss was my fault, “I would have been a magister.”_

_“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?!” I spat back._

_Anders shocked words were almost my own thoughts, though I would never have admitted the realization. “You’re sister’s a mage? You bloody hypocrite!” To my credit, I had no actual memory of her. I did not know she was a mage. Did not remember she was, if I ever knew._

_Varania jabbed me further, “You have no idea what I have been through. What I had to do since mother died.” Mother is dead? I have no chance of meeting her or knowing her? My world narrowed in a painful swirl of losing not just my memories, but any chance of regaining them. “This was my only chance.”_

_My lip curled as I bared teeth. The hate within me boiled up through the lyrum, glowing dangerously as I loomed over her. “Now you have no chance at all.”_

_Varania begged me, then begged my companions, and finally begged Hawke for her life. I held my ground only because Hawke asked me to. “Wait, Fenris. Don’t kill her.”_

_“Why not?!” I threw over my shoulder. “She was ready to see me killed.” Such betrayal. She might as well not be my sister but another apprentice of Hadriana. Or… of Danarius. It was her goal. “What is she to me other than just one more tool of the magisters? A magister in the making!” That is what she wanted to be after all, a magister._

_“She’s your family,” insisted Hawke._

_Family… I stepped back a pace. She looked up with hope almost in her eyes. “You said you did not want those markings, Leto. But you are wrong. You did. You competed for them in the arenas. And when you won, you were granted a boon. With that boon you freed Mother and I.” I could not believe my ears. Blades crashing in my mind. Spray of blood. Roar of a crown. Rush of another victory. I shut my eyes tight to try to block it out and opened them again to see her. She hated me, jealousy in her very scent. “Freedom was no boon! I look on you now and think you received the better end of the bargain.”_

_Was everything I believed so wrong till now? I flicked a look at Anders, then at Hawke. I almost missed Varania with a tiny knife, nicking herself for the blood. Blood magic. I reacted without thought. My hand, glowing as it does, gripped her heart inside her chest till it burst before she could cast. She slid lifelessly to the floor, along with what remained of my anger. Now all the family I will ever know is gone. I did not know what to think or how to feel. I was… empty inside._

_I stared down at her a long while before facing the others. They waited patiently for me. “I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging. But I was wrong.” I made myself look each one of them in the eye. I was wrong. They deserved better than what I had given them all these years. I could not look at Anders, though. “Magic has tainted that too.” It was unfair of me, but I had nothing left but my hate for magic and my rivalry with the apostate. “There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone.”_

_The abomination opened his mouth to say something, but Hawke shook his head. “You are not alone, Fenris. You have us, your friends.”_

_“Not me,” Anders piped in almost cheerily. Maybe we both needed each other’s hate as something to hold onto. Maybe we are unable to see ourselves without it._

_**~ Present day back on Athenril's ship** _

A hand touched Fenris’, startling him, and instantly retreated. His fist clenched as he scowled down at the mage. Ander stretched and then propped himself on one elbow, “Are you alright? You looked… far away.”

Fenris dodged, “You seem better.” He looked down at his right hand, allowing it to glow and phase partly into the Fade as he would when he rips out a heart. “I’m fine. Thinking about family. Thinking about what happened with Varania.”

Anders wanted to reach out to Fenris, offer him the comfort he had once offered Hawke. “I am sorry for what happened. Necessary as it was; it is hard to lose family. I know I am not family. And I know we don’t really get along much. But, I am glad you are here. You are the closest I have to family right now.”

Fenris’ expression softened and he had to look away from the naked honesty in Anders’ eyes. There should be words to say in return. He knew there were, but a lump formed in Fenris' throat that he could not speak around. He stood, leaving the room.

“Fenris?”

“Stop trying to die on me,” he grumbled and headed up the stairs to see what the new strange noises were. The ship was docking.

Anders, who felt much better for the long rest, sat up. However, the conversation left him confused. Sometimes he was not sure if Fenris liked him or not, if they were friends or enemies, if Fenris wanted to kill him or not. The look he had glimpsed on Fenris’ face was something entirely new. He had studied the elf for years, for no other reason than self-preservation. This was not an expression he had ever seen. It was probably just because Fenris was thinking of his sister. Hawke must have seen the expression in private when Hawke checked up on Fenris after the unfortunate event.

With a huff, Anders got up and followed the warrior. “Where are we?” he asked as Athenril came into view.

“Smugglers Cove,” she replied with a grin.


	18. Kiss at Smugglers Cove

“Smugglers Cove,” Athenril replied with a grin.

It didn’t look like much. Rocks jutting out from water, cliffs of a desolate looking island, reefs that would tear a ship apart. Anders thought it would be some exciting secret tunnel through rock into a hidden dock where all the smugglers go to exchange raider news and illegal goods.

“We’ll be a few days here. Sorry for the delay, but I need to repair the ship and do a bit of trading in the bay,” Athenril explained. Anders didn’t see any bay. She chuckled at Anders’ disappointment of the location. “Would you rather a drop into a cage in the Deep Roads?”

Fenris shot her a sharp look as Anders stiffened and shook his head. Fenris remembered the last time they explored a supposedly desolate place. Athenril would not know, but Anders had indeed been dropped through a hole, entirely by accident as a rotting floor gave way. He had fallen almost 15 feet into a cage in pitch darkness. And yes, it was in the Deep Roads with darkspawn. Anders screamed like he was dying. By the time Hawke, Fenris and Varric reached him, he was white as the skeleton beside him and mumbling terrified gibberish. They had to bring him back to the surface and camp for two days before Anders could be of any use. When asked what happened, why he freaked out, he refused to talk about it. Fenris could guess the look though. Slaves locked in “the box” for isolation punishments came out like this. They too would freak out. Just threatening them after with a repeat would cow them into complete submission. Danarius never did this to his slaves, he never had to. He preferred to have Fenris drag lesser mages to “the box” to cow them into obedience. That alone scared most slaves, to see a mage broken thus, they knew they had less chances. Fenris wondered yet again, what exactly had happened to Anders. What went on in his former Circle?

Athenril’s ship slowly navigated the rocks and reefs around the islands to a small shipyard. Fenris and Anders had the choice of staying in their small ship room or coming to the shipyard’s inn. They both jumped for the chance to be off the boat. Many of Athenril’s people pleaded to have extra days in Traiders Bay. She agreed they would sail into it after the repairs, recognizing the crew’s need to do something to relieve the fright they had at fighting that blighted ship.

At the small inn where the smell of fish dominated the environment, Fenris refused to enter. “No way. I had enough at Kirkwall’s docks. I am not going in there especially barefoot. They will likely only have fish to eat, too. No. I’m going back to the ship.”

“I’ll try to find something that doesn’t have fish and bring it back for you then,” Anders offered sympathetically.

_(Fenris had always hated fish. The very smell set him in the foulest of moods. When pressed why, he never had an answer, just that he hated fish, unreasonably. They had been sharing dinner together for a month in the mansion. Ander had even tentatively started to cook meals for them. The first few Fenris would not eat in case the mage was trying to poison him. Though he gave in swiftly enough to the good smells and that Anders was eating from the same plate anyways. The apostate would not poison himself after all. They developed a routine amidst the frequent arguments. Healing after lunch because Fenris could not get the lazy mage’s ass out of bed before noon. Back for dinner that they would share, cooked by Anders at least every third or fourth meal. Back to healing in the evening or crafting healing supplies. Anders had slowly, with the occasional prompting started to do this in the mansion in his room till the strange smells made Fenris move the apothecary and crafting to a room NOT near their bedrooms. Neither would admit though that dinner was their favorite time in the routine. It was the one time they would both set aside whatever they fought over that day or week and share a meal off the same tray and plates. Fenris enjoyed how it quieted the mage. Anders loved to see Fenris not tense like a bow strung too taught. They would even share a bottle of some alcohol. Though, usually Fenris finished the bottle because Anders just didn’t get the buzz he missed having._

_It wasn’t till Orana made a meal for them with fish in the pasta that Anders learned why Fenris hated fish. At first the warrior accused Anders of poisoning him. Then he ranted about how Danarius must have sent an assassin in to poison them, but Anders wasn’t showing symptoms. Orana apologised over and over for the fish, that she didn’t think it was bad or anything. Anders thought at first it was food poisoning, but he was fine. Then it clicked. Fenris hid in his bathroom vomiting and feeling down right miserable. Anders knocked on the door before entering, ignoring the elf’s weak protest. “I know now why you hate fish, even though you cannot remember why. You are allergic. I am so sorry.” He set down a kit of medical supplies and had Fenris sip a thin liquid that eased and slowly neutralized the reaction in his belly. He lay curled on the bathroom’s marble floor, head in Anders lap, panting and waiting for the horrible experience to pass. “I’ll make more of this potion in case fish contaminates anything you encounter anywhere else. Many people here cook with fish oils. Is this why we saw so little of you over the years unless you were on mission with us? Because you were always sick from something?” The non-committal shrug was his answer. “You should have come to see me. Well, I am here now.”_

_The first step to their uneasy truce. They fought less after that. Isabella dared ask them once if they simply had make-up sex. “WHAT?!” Fenris asked shocked and confused. That Anders could not stop laughing did not help. “I swear, Apostate, I will find something that will embarrass you and promote it fiercely!”)_

Anders returned to the ship with fresh baked bread, some pork mashed with rice that was not very appetizing, but wasn’t fish, and apple cider. Anders had been so careful since that day Fenris was sick from the fish to make sure nothing like that happened again to the best of his ability. “Tell me I am amazing!” He strode in with the non-fish meal. “And I have alcohol… two kinds! Apple cider. Meh, kind of tastes like rancid apple beer, but the sweet apple brandy, now that is very yum!” He sat with the meal to share and pulled the bottles from his pockets.

That deep rumbling chuckle of Fenris’ was worth every effort to bring this meal here. Anders thought he might do just about anything to hear it.

As it turned out, Fenris liked the sweet apple brandy as much as Anders did. But then, Anders recalled a stray conversation where Fenris had mentioned he liked sweet apples. Apparently apples are not so common in Tevinter like they are in Fereldan. Also, Tevinter didn’t seem to get snow. Minrathous was sandwiched between mountains, desert, and tropical forests. “Fenris? Tell me about the Fog Warriors?” Sensitive questions were always easier to ask Fenris after he has had a few cups of some alcohol or other to loosen his tongue and relax his spirit.

“Hm. Humans living in the jungles of the Island of Seheron. They were rebels against both the Imperium and the Qunari rulerships. Fierce, deadly, and yet free. They healed me when I was abandoned there after Danarius lost a fight and retreated. They took me in, healed me, and taught me what it felt like to be free. Gave me a taste I will never forget.” He drank the last sip in his cup and refilled it. “I spent several months with them. They taught me their language and customs. They taught me about the Qun. But Danarius returned…” He downed the whole cup at once. “He slid his magic into me, bade me kill them, and I did.” He had an urge to throw the cup, but wooden cups never gave that satisfying shatter that glass and crystal did.

“What about you, Apostate? Tell me about the Dalish you were with.”

Anders leaned back to savour his cup of brandy slowly, wishing it were in a glass. “You read my journal. There isn’t much to tell. I learned their language and customs too, and more about healing. I learned that dance from them; the one Isabela called the Anders Spicy Shimmy. It’s been a long time and I am very out of practice. So, you have yet to _really_ see it. It is meant to be done to specific music with a forest surrounding and a great bonfire. But, uh… I don’t think I will ever show it off to anyone. They have to be bloody worthy of the show and no one is yet.”

“Hawke?”

Anders downed his cup this time and coughed. He could feel Justice inside whispering chastisements and burning off the impending pleasant buzz again. “Close, maybe. I might have one day if the opportunity arose, but it didn’t and things… as you know didn’t exactly turn out. Can we talk about something else?”

“The Anders Spicy Shimmy,” Fenris gave a low chuckle. “That Isabela sure had you. It was very satisfying to see you embarrassed for a change. Remember that?”

Anders remembered. It was the first time Fenris looked at him with hungry eyes and Anders had wanted to kiss the killer. How could he possibly forget that moment? Fenris too, remembered it well, it was both the most amusing moment of his life and the most arousing. “As I recall, the name of the dance was your doing not Isabela’s,” Fenris reminded Anders.

**~ One month ago. Fenris’ POV.**

_He had been as stable as any of us could have hoped. Anders had no Justice or Vengeance incidents for almost a month. The spirit had not pushed for control and had even been very quiet. We started to see what perhaps was the Anders before he was possessed. No less annoying, charming enough with everyone he spoke to that I wanted to hit him, or them when they looked back upon him like hungry wolves in heat. He was witty, like Hawke, more so. Educated witty. It was hard to smother down my grins when he bantered with everyone._

_I had spent some time with him teaching me to read in place of Hawke. It gave us something to do. I was not embarrassed by my lack of skill. I wanted to be able to banter back with him with the same caliber of language and knowledge. I was only going to have that if I learned to read and thus read as much as I could to understand the words or concepts he used. He was much better at teaching me than I expected, far better than Hawke. He had the patience of a saint and knew just how to guide and encourage me._

_“You should teach the people in Darktown,” I suggested._

_Anders returned a perplexed look at Fenris. “Teach them? Most of them already know how to read.”_

_“I mean healing. You do lots of healing that uses no magic. Any one of them can learn that and it would benefit them. Also, just in case, you have people who can stand in your stead or be of far better use to you in a crisis.”_

_I watched him ponder the notion, like he was tasting something brand new and was not sure yet whether he liked it. The taste grew on him swiftly. “You really think so? I never thought about teaching. My mother was a teacher and an apothecary. I loved watching her teach her apprentices.”_

_“See? It is even in your blood.” Why was I being so encouraging and supportive? Oh right. Hawke told me to watch over him. That is all I was doing. Keeping him busy doing safe things, relatively out of sight, while waiting for Hawke to return._

_We headed to the Hanged Man for our weekly card game of wicked grace to find Isabela had come into town. Wicked grace was going to be extra fun with the strip aspect. Coin or clothes, those were the options. Anders groaned. He hated this. Good. I still needed a way to embarrass him back. Maybe getting him naked would do. He did once say that his Circle had no qualms and everybody kissed everybody in it. But for him to be so, squirmy about clothing optional wicked grace, made my night perfect. What is under all those layers? Is he a skin and bone guy like most mages? It makes me wonder because I have seen him whirling his staff and walloping darkspawn with it._

_Varric shuffled the cards and would be the dealer because he did not trust Isabela to not cheat. Wise, very wise. Our group had been so scattered since The Fall, and bringing Anders here was taking a risk, but worth it to maintain everyone’s sanity, namely mine. Hawke off on his wild quest. Merrill seeking elves and sacred things who knows where. Isabela, we never thought we would see again since she got herself a ship. She was here only for a week before she was off to deliver something of import. She came to give us news that Sebastian of Starkhaven was having… difficulties raising his army. Issues with becoming king and struggling with his vow of chastity and the need for an heir. Let him be preoccupied with that. Aveline came back, pregnant. Kirkwall was still a mess. Some of the nobles and the guards were organizing an elected government, but it was not strong. Donnic and Aveline joined us tonight. They plan to leave Kirkwall, travel to Antiva or Denerim and have their child in safety. This would be the last game together for some of us._

_Anders seemed edgy to have Isabela and Aveline and Donnic here. Just what I needed, an edgy possessed apostate. Isabela fixed it by plunking herself into his lap. They played their charm-and-flirt game with each other. It made me sick. But it calmed his nerves, so I let it slide, for now. Then she came and sat by me to torment me with her wiles. “Isabela, I am not interested, not unless you have some means to embarrass the mage for me.”_

_“Oh? You’d let me…” she leaned in close enough for my ear to twitch from her breath. “…have a kiss then and I promise I will find something this evening.”_

_I rolled my eyes. It was just a kiss that would mean nothing. “Fine.”_

_“Prepayment. I don’t work for free anymore.”_

_I nodded agreement and she leaned down so I could see between her breasts, which do not turn me on in the least, much to her disappointment, and let her kiss me. I grabbed her chin in a fierce grip to hold her there and prove that my kisses are worth the work. She backed off breathless and grinning. Her eyes slid to the right of me, Anders sat gaping. He quickly turned his head, but I saw something in his eyes I could not understand. I did not stab him or anything. Varric gave me a disapproving glare. “Just deal out the cards,” I grumbled._

_Wicked grace this evening was wicked indeed. Aveline played a good game and was still clothed, but out of her armor. Donnic did not fare so well, sitting red-cheeked and in his small clothes, borrowing coin from Aveline. Isabela fared well as usual and had Varric shirtless. That was a rarity. He really does look like his beard fell onto his chest. I was out of my armor, but still managing well for a change. Isabela was not picking on me tonight, yet. We had a truce. Anders, however, was the focus of her attention. Usually when we used to play this, he would bow out gracefully when he still had his shirt and pants, and could not borrow coin to save them. Isabela shifted her focus on Donnic till he was tapped out and last minute turned back on Anders._

_He lost the hand. The first bit of my night’s entertainment as he was so sure he would win or at least come out even this hand. My second bit of entertainment was when he had to choose, shirt or coin. He begged around the table and got no coin. Isabela suggested in a velvety tone, “You could dance for coin, the… Anders Spicy Shimmy.”_

_His jaw dropped._

_I tossed a sovereign on the table. “I’ll pay to see that!” Varric countered with a coin that said Anders would not do it, but three if he did. Isabela matched the coin as did I. Aveline matched it for both her and Donnic. Anders still gaped. “Well? Are you going to dance for the Lady? That Dalish dance thing… I dare you,” I goaded him._

_He finally snapped his mouth shut. He stood and moved away to call down to the musicians below to play something I was unfamiliar with. The music rose, slow and sensuously with jingles and high points, and a good rhythmic undertone with drums. “This isn’t meant to be seen outside a Dalish camp. And I can’t really do it proper here…”_

_“Quit stalling, Blondie!”_

_I pushed my chair back from the table to get a good view of Anders in his full embarrassment, cheeks turning a fine shade of pink as he could not find his words of charm to banter back. Yes, this was excellent payback._

_He cracked his neck and shook out his arms to loosen them. Then stretched a little and bounced on the balls of his currently bare feet. “Anders,” cooed Isabela, “two more sovereigns if you do it on the table.”_

_“HA!” I could not hold in my laugh. He scowled at me for a moment and pulled himself onto the table. It was a whole lot of coin down for this dance. It more than covered what he owed and would leave him a good deal extra. I waited for him to waffle from the center stage attention._

_He didn’t. He took careful precise steps, slow, and with as much grace as a Tevinter elven veil dancer. His hips rolled with the drums, snapped with a bell, the steps enhancing each movement. His hands arced as he teased toward Isabela. I could not take my eyes off him. They must have been wide with wonder and I prayed no one noticed. I swallowed hard when his eyes met mine for a second before he completed his turn back to Isabela who coaxed him to the floor to dance with her. The drop would not have been graceful, so he shimmied in my direction, leaned down with a hand on the back of my chair just over my shoulder. He stepped down, toes only on my chair’s edge… between my legs. I held my breath. He did not touch me. He just came so very very close. His other foot eased to the floor and he leaned away from me. I wanted to grab him there. Wait, no. What was I thinking?! I shook my head, but continued to watch him, riveted. He swayed with each step, till he and Isabela came together in a coupled dance that was shy of grinding sex right there._

_Anders seemed fine with this, though his embarrassment still somewhat clear, till Isabela’s hand untucked his shirt and tried to slide under it. He lost all sense of rhythm. I saw the instant panic in his face._

_“Enough, Isabela. Hands off!” I marched over and tugged her away. She pouted and wandered off._

_Anders covered easily with his charm and bowed to everyone over-dramatically as if we were in Orlais. The game concluded soon after as everyone redressed and gathered their belongings. I escorted Anders back to our home. (Our?) I still could not shake the images of his dance. I needed a cold bath. Five months living with him. What was wrong with me? Just because he is attentive, quiet (blessedly so unless he is having a nightmare), cooks and teaches me to read… He is still a weak mage, and a possessed apostate that destroyed the Chantry._

**~ Present moment.**

Anders snickered, “The Anders Spicy Shimmy. Better suited for the Blooming Rose. Last time I did it… oh… four or more years ago… in the tavern, someone had told people at the Blooming Rose.”

“THAT is why they kept trying to hire you whenever we went in with Hawke!” realization dawned on Fenris. He laughed out loud for several minutes. Anders joined in the laughing because it was infectious, especially since Fenris almost never did it and it sounded wonderful. Fenris tried not to notice how good Anders looked when he really and truly smiled. Those amber eyes shone warmly and crinkled at the corners.

They had finished their meal sitting on the bed with the large wooden plate between them, their wooden cups empty. Fenris reached for the bottle of apple brandy to pour himself some more. Anders snatched it away, “Nu-uhn. You’ve had enough. I want to save some for later.”

“We’ll buy more,” Fenris made another grab for the bottle. The two soon tumbled and tangled on the bed, wrestling for the bottle. The empty plate got kicked to the floor. The cups rolled away beside it. The cutlery was lost perhaps in the blankets.

Anders had not been or had this much silly fun in a long while and relished that Fenris was just drunk enough to be playful too. He wriggled and squirmed from Fenris’ grip, tossing a blanket over his face and rolled off the bed. Fenris recovered and leapt after Anders who danced away dextrously. The small room was not big enough to really dodge though. Fenris pounced, pinning Anders to the back of the door. Anders held the bottle just barely out of reach, gleeful for the almost two inches extra he had on Fenris as he stretched to his full height.

Anders’ wrist was held tight to the wall far above his head, the bottle firm in his grasp. The rest of him was held fast by Fenris. Chests heaved from their struggle. Fenris had no free hand to grab the bottle. Anders grinned mischievously. Fenris narrowed his eyes. They were stuck at a stalemate. Bare inches from each other’s faces. Fenris, slightly flushed from the brandy. Anders swallowed and licked his lips as he realized their situation, how close they were, that he only needed to lean just a little and their lips would meet. He wondered what it would be like to be trusted, to dare to trust again, to love. But this was Fenris, and Anders did not want something simply physical, especially with someone who disliked mages and magic and all that he was. Nor could he handle another relationship with a promiscuous partner. He remembered that kiss Fenris and Isabela shared at that wicked grace game. It hurt. He didn’t know why, but it hurt to witness. And what if he betrayed a relationship again? What if he could not tell right from wrong? What if… “Fenris,” he breathed nervously, searching for the words that might separate them easily before his need for contact and affection regretfully overcame him. He knew he would never get that from Fenris.

Fenris watched that tongue moisten lips. His eyes flicked to the bottle trying to figure out a way to get Anders to release it. He felt the mage’s breath on his face, sweetly scented with the apple brandy they had shared. He wanted to taste it on Anders’ mouth and tongue. The memory of that exotic dance fresh in his thoughts from their talk. Those hips swaying and grinding, what would that feel like? Heat coiled hungrily low in his groin. But this was the apostate, he tried to remind himself. The alcohol in him told him it did not matter. Anders was fun, caring, and yet bold if he remembered what he overheard once from a conversation between Hawke and Isabella. The mage was not a soft wimp like many other circle mages. He could give as good as he got and proved it in this little struggle for the brandy. It was _exciting_. But they didn’t trust one another. This was a mage after all, a possessed one at that. And he still had Danarius after him. His eyes darted from Anders’s lips to eyes to bottle and back. When Anders breathed out his name, he had a plan. It was a risk, would the mage reciprocate? Would he drop the bottle? Both?

Before Anders could say another word, their lips crashed together. Anders’ eyes widened in shock, then he melted in brief desperation for more. The bottle slipped from stunned relenting fingers as he let out a small mewl. Fenris broke the kiss and caught the bottle. He stepped back with a victorious grin. Breathless, Anders still looked confused, a little delirious from the kiss.

He suddenly frowned, picked up the forgotten wooden plate and slammed it into Fenris’ face, knocking him hard onto the bed and bloodying his nose. Before Fenris could recover, protest or defend, Anders attacked again. “DON’T. You EVER. ( **SLAM** ) Do that again! ( **SLAM** ) NEVER! ( **WHAM** ) Not unless you bloody mean it!!” He threw the plate to clatter against the wall behind Fenris and fled the room.

Adrenalin burned off the happy warm alcohol buzz he was enjoying, mind reeling from what just happened. At first Fenris thought this was a spirit episode. But nope. This was all Anders. Also, his pride was wounded slightly to know he just got beaten by a mage with a wooden plate. He flopped back on the bed and pinched his nose. This was not at all what he expected to transpire. He tried to piece it together and sort it out. Fenris could not believe he kissed the mage. ( _What was I thinking? Wait, I wasn’t thinking. I was… drunk. Festa Vass!)_ The excitement of the moment and the kiss washed over him again as he thought back on it, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. He sighed. It was good. Too good. And stupid. Too stupid. He blamed the alcohol. But why was Anders so angry? He thought the mage would be fine with it. The mages kissed all the time in his Circle, didn’t Anders say that? Maybe it was because it was Fenris, the vicious killer as he had read in Anders’ journal. What freaked Anders out so much?

There was so much the two of them did not know about each other. Misunderstandings like this happened often, though had not been so physically violent before. It had only ever been verbal venom spitting.

Fenris sat up and checked the state of his sore nose. Satisfied it was no longer bleeding, he cleaned it better and headed out to the deck in search of his upset apostate. He found him sitting somewhat dejected on a row of crates under the moonlight, looking out at the open sea. Fenris tapped his toe against a crate as a way of warning Anders of his silent presence. Anders turned his head a little but refused to look at Fenris, then he returned his gaze to the waters.

Fenris sat beside him wondering what the right thing to say or do in this situation was. Hawke would know, or one of the others. He knew what Varric would advise and decided to start with that, “I am sorry.”

Ander took in a slow slightly shuddering breath. When he felt calm enough, he turned quietly to face Fenris. “You’ve never apologized to me before.”

“I never felt like something that happened was entirely my fault before,” Fenris said with an apologetic frown. “I crossed a line I should not have, and I am sorry. But I do not understand your reaction. Why it upset you so much.”

Anders searched those sage green eyes to be sure the apology was sincere. He raised a hand and gently started healing the damage he caused with the wooden plate. “I don’t want another promiscuous Hawke in my life. And, I don’t want to be a danger to another relationship. And… _you don’t even like me._ ”

 _(Ouch!)_ Fenris winced, more from the words than where Anders touched. The healing touch was so familiar now that Fenris did not mind it and it felt soothing. He could no longer refuse the healing knowing now how Anders does it. “You are wrong. I am not… promiscuous like Hawke… or at all. I have only been with Hawke once.”

“What about Isabella?”

“What about her? I kissed her once because that was the payment she demanded to get you to dance. I never kissed her before that or after that, or anyone.” Fenris squirmed a little admitting his inexperience. “I thought you would not mind. You are so hands on with other people.”

“I never kiss them.”

There was silence between them for a time as Anders finished healing. Fenris gentled his tone, “I know you do not want to be a danger in another relationship. That is why I am here. To make sure you are not. Maybe… there will be a way to free you from your possessing spirit.” Fenris dared not say more because Hawke made him swear.

“I don’t know where I end and he begins. We are so intertwined especially since the destruction of the Chantry. I know it seems like he’s been quiet. But he isn’t… He is practically me and me him.” His face broke in emotional anguish. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. Everything is like… pretending something I remember being.”

Fenris hadn’t realized how much pain Anders had been struggling with, hidden under his light-hearted demeanor. “I think I could like that Anders, the one you remember being, even if he is a mage.”

A shininess moistened Anders eyes and he swiftly turned his back to Fenris, taking in short breaths to try to stave off breaking down in front of him.

Fenris’ hand hovered away from Anders’ back a moment before slowly pressing between the mages shoulder blades. So often, he had left Anders alone in these moments. So often he had been alone in similar moments and didn’t want to be. “Hawke was right to spare you. You are not wholly lost. You are not an abomination.” He felt it needed to be said out loud. Anders covered his face with his hands as his shoulders shook. Fenris watched with sorrowful puppy eyes. He debated how much he could handle and if clothing between them would allow for his marking to not react to contact. Then he inched closer and wrapped his arms around Anders’ shoulders, holding him through this. “I wish I had words of comfort, but I do not. Just know I will not leave your side… and not just because Hawke asked me to.”

He realized now what Hawke meant by Anders needing him. Anders needed someone unshakable, unafraid, and loyal to a fault. Anders needed someone strong enough to handle anything that might happen. Otherwise, Anders likely would never live long enough for Hawke to find a cure for the possession. Fenris liked feeling needed, it gave him purpose. The next thing he realized came belatedly. His markings were not hurting, not with clothing between them. And if he thought more on it, they never seemed to really hurt with Anders touch when the healing magic flowed. He felt Anders lean back into him. He allowed it. It was actually comfortable and would have only been more so if he could lean his own back against something.

“Thank you,” Anders whispered thickly.

Anders and Fenris quietly enjoyed their relative truce. Later, they both leaned side by side on the rail of the ship watching it carefully navigate Smugglers Cove. The ships repairs went well and they crept into the fog shrouded maze of jutting rocks and cliffs. They passed between two tall sides of rock about 50 or maybe 100 feet above them.

“We will be disembarking here and do a little trade if you want some R&R,” commented Athenril. “There's a good market, for literally anything. So do be careful and try not to start something. Trade only, to the best of your abilities. Once we dock, you have three days. Then we are off to Highever, your northern port in Fereldon.”

Anders turned and leaned the back of his hips against the rail. “Athenril? How long is it from here to Highever? I know our Blighted Ship incident and subsequent repairs has added a few days…”

“If we get a good wind, another two to four more days.”

Fenris spoke without turning, “Mage, being on the move makes you harder to find.” Though he worried a little about how Hawke would find them.

They remained watching the water and rocks as the ship sailed into the unknown areas of Smugglers Cove, known as Traiders Bay. The silence stretched an uncomfortably long time. Finally Anders broke it, “You kissed me.”

Fenris flinched. “Can we forget about that?”

“No. I can’t forget about it. Can you? Seriously. Can you?”

“I was drunk.”

Anders snorted, “Not THAT drunk.”

“Drop it, Mage.”

Anders poked at the railing absently. “I was just wondering why.”

“Ask me when you are not a possessed apostate.”

This time Anders flinched. He usually did when Fenris or anyone called him an apostate. Sometimes he ignored it, sometimes he got angry and Justice or Vengeance took over. But he always reacted in some way. Even when he ignored it, he still flinched. “I’m going to prep for three days on unmoving land and a market full of literally anything.” He walked away from Fenris brooding as well as the elf could brood.

Fenris sighed. This might be another one of those tense days. One of those days he really wanted to just hit Anders, a lot. “One day, I am so going to do it.” He too felt edgy. It was all the time being cooped up on the ship in that small room with just the apostate. The crew called it cabin fever. Getting onto the land and stretching their legs would be the perfect solution. He could not work out his frustrations on this small ship. Not like he used to in his mansion.


	19. Fleeing Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much of this is a flashback to how our heroes ended up on Athenril's ship.

**~ Just before getting onto Athenril’s ship about a week ago.**

_Three months turned into five months. Five months slid into six as Anders trained a selection of willing people in Darktown. It grew more and more dangerous, though. Templars from different places kept coming to inspect what happened at the Gallows and Chantry and to deal with the run-away mages. Many of these Templars were practically renegades themselves. Fervent. Religious vigilantes. Most from Starkhaven on Sebastian’s orders. The healing apprentices did well in the clinic for most of the general problems and the Templars found no Anders or any other mage there._

_Fenris had insisted Anders stay in the mansion, laying low. On the rare occasion, Anders would counter-insist on getting out, cloaked and hurrying through the night to check on the clinic, send and receive messages, deliver some healing potions he had struggled to make with his limited resources. It worked out for this month. Fenris did not restrict Anders, but reasoned safety with him. As a concession, Fenris promised to find a way Anders could help the people without being there. That concession came as a surprise for Anders that almost endeared him to Fenris._

_It was very early in the morning. Fenris was always up before Anders. This was when he did most errands and checked the status of things. It still creeped him out to have people look or even stare at him as he wandered the streets. Sometimes because he just looked strange for even an elf with his marking. Most often, it was because people still called him “friend of the Champion” and it made his ears burn a little. It felt so strange to be honored. Good most times, but still strange. He sought out the Lady Elegant to ask what someone needs to make potions as she does. When she refused to divulge as it would be a conflict of interest and create competition, he tried a different tactic, asking it as a favor to Hawke. There she gave in, only because she remembered Fenris (like she could ever forget him) as being with Hawke all the time. It was the last favor she would do for Hawke and Fenris hoped Hawke didn’t mind._

_Then Fenris sought Varric for coin, “I need to borrow some for… stuff.”_

_“Stuff? You know, I have a bet going on with Isabela…”_

_“NOTHING is going on between me and the apostate. Do you have coin to lend or not?”_

_Varric chuckled and muttered something about he who doth protest too much. They discussed what it was for so Varric could know how much coin was needed and then handed over a bag of gold sovereigns. “Don’t think about paying it back. It is part of your share of the earnings from our ventures.” He told him where to go for the needed supplies and sent him on his way. A slow sly grin lead to a great guffaw after the warrior was gone. “Oh, this will definitely be a good story.” He took out a fresh book and titled it, **Of Trust & Guardianship: A Tale of Unlikely Love**. He knew Fenris would want to kill him, but the elf couldn’t read, right? And so long as Isabela didn’t illustrate it, then he was fine._

_Sometime after noon, Fenris kicked Anders’ bed, “Get up you lazy apostate!” Anders toppled over the other side of the bed, startled. “Room at the end of the hall. Lunch. I already ate because I was too hungry to wait for you.” And Fenris stormed out in his usual brooding manner._

_Anders grumbled and put himself together. Once cleaned and dressed, he shuffled down the hall to the last room and went inside for his late lunch, wondering what he did or did not do this time to piss Fenris off. He stood so long in the doorway that Orana had to beg him to please go in so she can bring in the heavy box. He apologised and took the box from her. “What is all this? Where did it come from?” he asked still flabbergasted._

_“Messere Fenris,” she replied politely. “Lunch is on the desk over there for you, Serrah Anders.”_

_Anders forgot his hunger, forgot the food, just wandered among the specialized apothecary equipment, supplies and the boxes of jars of ingredients. It dawned on him that the grumpy toss from bed was Fenris playing a joke on him and he grinned. “You really had me fooled, Fenris.” He ooo-ed and aaah-ed at each item for hours. He shelved the jars and set up the equipment._

_He was so engrossed, he never saw Fenris watching from the doorway. Fenris nodded approval to himself after a while and wandered away. He remembered when Hawke had gifted him with Blade of Mercy, how he felt awed and warm inside. He saw that same look on Anders and felt content with the gift he had given. Hawke had once told him giving gifts was as much fun as getting them, more so if you give the right gift. This was the right gift for Anders._

_Anders crafted potions for the clinic throughout the month. It was a way to help without being there. It kept everyone safe. Fenris even regarded the apostate as tolerable if asked. At least so long as the nightmares weren’t bad or their household fights were few._

_Their differing opinions on mage rights always brought out the worst in them, though, and they seemed adept at throwing the most painful words at each other._

_“I might still be a damned possessed apostate,” spat Anders, “But you are still a damned slave!”_

_That ended somewhat destructively in glowing lyrium and a cracked door. Anders retreated to his bedroom for safety knowing he said something he should not have, regretting his words already. They just came out because he was pissed off at the elf. Fenris stomped barefoot through the hall with the slamming of doors, into the large meeting room atop the double staircase. That was Fenris’ private room where he would sometimes hang out with Varric or where he would go when he hated the world and intended to drink himself into oblivion and redecorate the walls with the shattered bottles. It was one of Fenris’ favorite ways to blow off his fury._

_Anders cautiously tiptoed from his room. He winced as another bottle crashed against the stone mantle of the fireplace inside Fenris’ meeting room. That room used to be the only room that Fenris used till Orana started cleaning up. He cringed as he heard Fenris roar in the room, “I AM NOT A SLAVE!” More things smashed and clattered. Why Fenris was so angry at this, Anders wasn’t sure. Fenris was only ever this furious when Varania treated him like a slave. Why should it matter so much coming from Anders? Fenris didn’t even like Anders. But then Anders wasn’t sure about that. After the gift of the crafting room, six month of protection, hiding and sometimes even care. Maybe coming from Anders meant more than Anders thought. He wanted to apologize and stood outside the door a long while as another bottle crashed into the shelving. Anders took a deep breath and knocked. The slurred response made no sense._

_Anders was certain Fenris was so drunk he could hardly stand and dared to open the door. No apology was going to happen till Fenris was sober, because he would not remember it and still hate Anders. And Anders really didn’t want Fenris angry at him anymore. He had pretty much given up on overtly fighting for mage rights. Things on that front had taken on a life of their own, and Anders wasn’t sure it was good per se. The caged and tortured mage situation wasn’t good either, but maybe the other extreme, full sudden freedom wasn’t the best solution. What was done could not be undone. And no one gave a damn about his Manifesto which he had tried to write to give mages some self-governing structures. So the door swung open and he braced himself for things being thrown at him, or the elf outright attacking him with glowing lyrum giving him extra speed and strength._

_Furniture had been overturned or broken as expected. All the alcohol was drank, bottles littered the floor and ledges, many smashed against the stone wall. Fenris preferred hitting the stone wall. It made a better sound. Most of the bottles had been emptied from previous binges. Fenris was rooting through a box looking for another bottle. He uncorked it. “Fenris, wait! That isn’t…” Fenris swallowed the contents almost in spite of Anders. Then he coughed and clutched his belly. His brands flicked and flashed. He crumpled to the ground howling._

_Anders ran from the room to his potion crafting room and grabbed a bottle from a shelf and dashed back, grabbing the corner of a wall to help him turn it faster. “Damn it Fenris. That was a lyrium potion. Only mages can drink them. You idiot elf.” He tried to sound more angry than worried, but wasn’t sure if he managed it. He opened the remedy bottle and fought the syrup into the warrior. Then he tried to manhandle Fenris back to his bedroom. The elf vomited in so many places along the way, Anders felt sorry for whoever would have to clean up and resigned to do the task himself later. In the bed, Anders had to hold Fenris down as another wave rolled through the marking and Fenris yowled almost endlessly, tears streaming from his eyes and his back arched painfully. “It will pass, I’ve given you something for it. It will pass.” Anders tried to reassure the elf. With as much alcohol as might be in Fenris, Anders wasn’t sure how long it would take. All he could do is hold Fenris from hurting himself._

_Hours passed in waves like this. Anders murmured apologies and reassurances intermittently. He opened himself up and poured small safe trickles of healing magic into Fenris. “I am right here, my friend. Right here. I will heal this. I promise. It will be over soon.” He slowly sank his magic in a little deeper trying to curb the flow of the lyrium potion or ease the lyirum in the markings._

_That’s when he found it. The first of many ingrained control spells tied right in the lyrium patterns. At first sight, he could tell it was complicated and the work of several mages. At first touch, pain seared through him till he pulled his magic back, recoiling internally for a moment. Fenris started to panic and Anders decided not to do that again, for both of their sakes. “It’s alright. I’m ok. You’ll be ok too. I just have to ease this differently. I’m sorry. Just breathe, Fenris. Just breathe.”_

_After several more hours, Fenris lay there sweat soaked and panting. Anders remained focused on a very gentle healing. “Get off me, mage,” rasped Fenris. Anders backed away from the elf. “I’m going to be…” Anders reacted fast with a basin. Now that the lyrium potion had run its ragged course, Fenris had the hangover of a lifetime. Anders wiped Fenris’ brow and neck with a cool cloth, and then offered him a cup of mint water. “Apology accepted,” muttered the worn elf._

_“Drink lots of water and stay resting. I’ll clean up out there and bring in some… hmm… I guess breakfast. Anything you’d like in particular?”_

_Fenris nodded, “Those eggs you do with the cheese and whatever in the Orlesian bread things.”_

_“Oeuf épicé et fromage sur croissant coming up,” Anders supplied him with the name. It was one of his favorites too, learned from Liliana when he camped with her for a time among the Grey Wardens before she headed to Orlais on personal business._

_“Anders.” It was one of those rare times Fenris called the mage by his name. He froze at the door and looked back. “Don’t ever use magic inside me like that again without my permission. Or I will assume you are a magister and kill you outright.”_

_Anders solemnly nodded and headed off to make breakfast. He wasn’t sure if that was a reprimand or a gesture of trust. The respite from their arguing lasted a whole week. Anders even made the effort to be up earlier and make breakfast every morning, adding it to their routine. Also added to their routine was watching Fenris release some pent up stress through sword dancing at the bottom of the double staircase._

_Anders would remain at the top and just lean on the railed balcony above as he watched. It was… beautiful. Fenris would leave the armor behind and take just Blade of Mercy through all the various sword moves in what looked like a very complicated and difficult dance choreography. Anders smiled to himself recalling how Fenris once snarked at Merrill. She had asked him what he did all day in his empty mansion. He said he ran from room to room choreographing dances. Anders almost believed it, too, now that he watched the easy flow of Fenris’ long lean body, the strength it took to wield the huge two-handed blade, and the remarkable grace that only an elf seemed to embody. Though, Anders did try his best to capture that when he learned the bonfire dances from the Dalish he was with._

_Fenris tried hard to not notice, or rather to ignore, Anders watching him train. He didn’t know what to make of it, or how he felt about it. He found himself trying harder each day to be better, to show off more of what he could do, especially when his elven ears picked up the faint noises of Anders being impressed. He wanted to hear that at least once per day. Pride swelled in his chest every time._

_One day he stopped and pointed his blade up at Anders. “You should come down here and learn to defend yourself.”_

_“I know how to defend myself. And you don’t want random magic being cast in your mansion.” Anders flashed a rare smile as he tossed in a rarer compliment, “Besides, you look too good down there anyways. I prefer just watching.”_

_There was something so very satisfying to see those pointed ears flush deep red and the warrior cough awkwardly._

_Two days later, the world crashed in on Anders with a full blown spirit incident. Vengeance raged through Anders. Fenris held him pinned to the wall beside a window where just outside, a dozen fresh off the boat Templars stood on orders from a Seeker of the Orlesian Chantry. There were plain too many of them and they were congregating in many places. Fenris wanted to run errands and get news, but not unless he could get Anders subdued. Reasoning failed when it was Venageance. Justice could be talked down, not this. Vengeance blamed everyone. Vengeance raged blindly. Vengeance killed indiscriminately. Fenris resorted to extremes. His Fade phased hand rammed into Anders chest and gripped his heart. “Release him or I end you.”_

_Anders’s eyes bulged and he gasped and clutched Fenris’ shirt. He could not speak. Fenris pulled his hand back and Anders sagged into his arms, gulping air several times before passing out. Fenris eased him to the floor and then slowly pulled the curtains closed. Moments later Anders startled back to the waking world, grabbing at his chest in panic and confusion. The feeling of having been punch in the sternum lingered, but he had no memory of what Fenris had done. Fenris crouched beside him. “You ever lose control again like that and I might really kill you. Now let’s get away from the window. You need to stay out of sight. I’m going out there for some news.”_

_“What?! You’re leaving me?!”_

_“Hush, mage. I’ll be back.” Fenris walked Anders upstairs to Anders’ bedroom. “Stay put and …. Just stay put. I won’t be too long.”_

_“Did I hurt you?”_

_“No.”_

_Anders sighed in deep relief and sat on his bed to wait._

_Fenris put on his usual clothes and armor, slapped Blade of Mercy to his back and headed out with the small pouch of coin that Varric provided as a stipend. Orlais had teamed up with Starkhaven to secure Kirkwall. Templars outnumbered the City Guard five to one and soon there would be more than that. The Chantry was coming to investigate the city personally. It looked more like a take-over. Fenris did some general supply shopping, politely greeted Templars in passing, pointed them in the direction of places he had known blood mages to lurk, and made his way to the Hanged Man._

_Varric was meeting with several people as he was sorting a variety of things out. “Varric, I need to know what is happening,” Fenris demanded._

_Varric’s usual bright demeanor was dark and serious, “Trouble.”_

_“I gathered that.”_

_“No… BIG trouble. You have to get him out of Kirkwall and now. They will be going door to door by nightfall. I was about to come find you and give you this.” Varric handed Fenris a small scroll._

_Fenris read it, “A work contract? For sell-swords… ‘for those who need cash and don’t mind the sea.’”_

_“Yup, Athenril is good people. Hawke worked with her and she owes him one. The hard part will be getting Blondie to the ship. No staff, no magic, no robes… I’ll swing by the mansion with some supplies and cover clothes. You… are a bored friend of the Champion and Blondie will be just another poor desperate Fereldan looking for work. I recruited you both for Anthenril. You got an old sword you can strap onto him?” Fenris nodded. “Good. I’ll see you in an hour. He better not lose control out there or he’s done.”_

_Fenris hurried back to the mansion and up to Anders room. “We have to go. Pack emergency supplies only. We are likely not coming back. We have less than an hour. Varric will be here with our way out. Those Templars will be routing people out door to door by nightfall, so stay in control till we are out of Kirkwall. Can you do that?”_

_“I’ll… try.”_

_Anders thought his world would end there. He was going to run again, just as he was starting to feel safe and comfortable. Just as he thought he might have a friend again. It made him want to cry. At least this time the run wasn’t due to a bunch of deaths that were his fault. Or maybe, it was. It was his fault the Kirkwall Chantry was destroyed here. All those deaths were on his hands. And that was the reason these Templars were here._

_Both men ran from room to room with enchanted backpacks, throwing in supplies: medical supplies, potions, a few critical books that could say a mage was here, Anders’ journals, a Warden Mage spellbook Bethany had left at Hawke’s for Anders, some food, spare clothing, bedrolls and tents and all the stuff they would need on the run. Varric arrived, having his own key to the mansion. He dropped a pack. “Blondie, change clothes now.”_

_Anders came out in the new clothing feeling twelve and hating it. He had been dressed in Hawke’s old armor when he had worked for Athenril. Fenris strapped weapons onto him. “But… This is…”_

_“Shut up, apostate. I am leaving everything I was putting roots in to save your life from these Templars. You will do as I ask and stay quiet and calm.” Fenris told him firmly._

_They shouldered the gear, grateful for packs that were designed to hold up to one hundred items and to weigh a manageable amount. Varric lead them through the streets, chatting lightly about their contract and how this will be good experience for them. They were mostly ignored by the Templars in Hightown. They were even ignored by the ones in Lowtown who were looking for mages. Fenris kept Anders walking._

_They got stopped in the Docks District._

_Fenris showed them their contract papers while Varric explained things and insisted they were on a tight schedule with the ship that was going to leave soon. The knight wanted proof that these two were not mages and drew his sword for a small… demonstration. Fenris obliged with a feral grin, giving the knight a good set of new bruises. He stepped back to let Anders spar, silently counting the men here and trying to determine if he could kill them all and get Anders to the ship before reinforcements came. Anders drew the simple two-handed blade. The Knight laughed at his stance and attacked. Anders grabbed the blade around the middle, cutting his own hand a bit but actually held his own, though he used the blade differently, almost like it were a staff. In the end of the sparring, Anders lost the blade and shrugged, “I’m still in training. Guard work with the ship is better than a courtyard or small roughians around the Wounded Coast.” Picking up the blade he rejoined Fenris and Varric, refraining from healing his hand._

_They were permitted to pass. The spirit flickered in Anders’ eyes and Fenris tugged him along swiftly. Varric introduced them to Athenril and she assured them she could manage having an apostate who can heal, welcomed it even. “We know how to hide and protect them. Come on. I want to catch the tide.”_

_Varric pressed a couple of heavy pouched into Anders’ hands once the mage healed himself. “You know how to handle this better than he does. It should be enough to hold you for a month or two in Fereldon. Protect each other and take care of each other, my friend.” Anders was touched by Varric’s concern. He hadn’t been sure where he stood with Varric till now. And now, they were parting ways._

_Anders dropped the pouches into his personal back pack. “Goodbye, Varric. I’ll miss you and Bianca.”_

_Before long, Kirkwall was shrinking behind them and the sea opened ahead._

**~ The present moment.**

The sea vanished in shrouds of fog and rock behind them and a bay opened up ahead. Now Anders could be impressed with the secret entrance feeling. The docks lead to crank lifts and long stairways up the cliffs to the mysterious black market. This place was called Traiders Bay, a play on words for the sea raiders who frequented here and the trading that happened for all manner of things, including people. Fenris huffed. Slavery. He could smell it.

Athenril met him on his way down to Anders. “Remember. If you don’t want to drown, don’t rock the boat.”

He pursed his lips. He understood. It meant ‘no trying to kill slavers’ here. Was it worth setting foot on land in that case? He would need to curb his urge for all their sakes… this time only because he was ill equipped to deal with this many slavers.


	20. Lies and Truths

Anders sat on the bed wrapping extra bandages and some leather knee padding around his right knee as Fenris entered the small room on the ship. “We are going to walk on LAND!” cheered Anders. “In a market full of illegal and forbidden wonders!” He stood and stuffed some coin into a couple belt pouches (one he tied to Fenbris's belt) and hooked some vials of healing potions into another belt pouch, then packed a few belongings for them to overnight a few days at an inn. “Only downside… we can’t kill slavers. Like seriously? Ending slavers here would put a big dent in the market.”

“We would die. I would rather assess the situation and come back later with more people. Then kill them all.”

“Hm! Good plan.”

When they stepped off the ship and walked along the wooden dock to the stairs, Anders just stood and looked up the zigzagging staircases all the way up. It looked like a forever climb. “That’s more stairs than I thought looking at them from a distance.”

Fenris who was half way up the first flight looked back, “What? Are you coming or are we putting the weakling mage in a carry basket?” he taunted.

Anders made a face at him and started to climb. Six flights up and they passed the first major landing with caves and tunnels and darkened markets. Another five flights up and Anders started to lag behind. Two more flights and Anders stopped altogether. Fenris looked back once he got to the top of the next flight and did not hear Anders shuffling behind him. He caught the tail end of Anders healing that knee. “I’m coming,” Anders called up and continued climbing.

Anders stopped another two times to heal his knee by the time they got half way up. He looked upwards. Still so much more to go. He looked downward. Too far up to bother changing his mind. He was slower from there, his limp becoming obvious. He lagged farther and farther behind, stopping more often to rest and heal. About three quarters of the way up, he stopped again, grimacing in pain and just sat on the stairs. He closed his eyes and tried to heal the pain away again, but it no longer helped.

Fenris came back down. “When were you injured? I did not see you get hurt recently. And why don’t you just heal it proper and be done with it?”

Anders shot him a hard look. “It’s an old injury. And I am healing it as best I can, but there is a limit to what you can do to an old injury that healed wrong.”

“I thought you were a healer even when you were young. Why did you not heal it proper then?”

Anders clenched and unclenched his jaw a couple times. “I wasn’t allowed to.” He stood and started to climb again. This time Fenris followed behind him frowning with some concern. Questions forming unasked and thus unanswered. Just shy of two flights to the top, Anders stopped again and had to sit to try to heal more.

Fenris stared sharply at him, waiting.

“What?” Anders asked, annoyed.

“What happened?”

“I was fifteen and ran away from the Circle. I got long legs. I used to be able to run fast and far. Templars bashed in my knee; then… prevented me from healing it.”

Fenris seemed almost shocked. “They hobbled you?”

“Among other things. Why are you behind me and not ahead of me?”

“In case you fall.”

The pain was so bad, Anders was not sure he would make it up that last flight. He never had to deal with so many stairs. Walking up Sundermount was never this hard either. Walking and hiking with the gang for missions were tolerable. There were breaks; the land was rarely this steep. When they reached the top, Anders had no more railing to hold onto for support. A strong hand caught under his arm and another at his elbow, taking some of the weight off the right side. Fenris helped him to a large rock to sit on that was several feet away from the stairs. The market tumbled and crowed together ahead of them.

“You have the most exquisite looking slave,” commented a woman who approached them wearing a Tevinter style noble’s dress. Fenris bristled but kept silent as he instinctttiely dropped his eyes. “He is so docile and helpful. Most of the marked ones like this are deadly fighters and so expensive to procure that you either have to make one yourself or execute all your family.”

Anders smiled so charmingly up at her. “Hello. This gentleman is a not my slave, but a free elf. He just met me on the stairs and helped me up since my knee injury was bothering me. He’s a bit shy and quiet from how he seemed on the stairs. This is Leto. And my name is Laird Shon.” He stood carefully and took up her hand to kiss the back of it like a fine noble would. “And you are?”

“Countess Millisana. A pleasure. You sound Fereldan almost. Not many of those come here. Where are you from, Laird Shon, and what brings you here?” She asked in light conversation. Fenris steps back out of sight as best he could, wanting to strangle Anders for flirting with a Tevinter mage apprentice.

“I am Fereldan,” replied Anders with a pleased grin for her figuring out his accent. “From far in the snowy north. Laird yes, but of such a small place that it is almost insignificant save for a couple good mines. I am hoping to find some rare, unique and beautiful things here to warm my small estate.”

She blushed a little as Anders’ eyes did the expected rove down her body and back to her eyes. “You flatter, Laird Shon.”

“You may call me just Shon. I am not yet wed.” At Anders’ further flirtations, Fenris buried his face in his palm and tried not to gag.

“Shon, I think you found something rare a beautiful. Unless you don’t intend to bring him home.” Her eyes landed on Fenris, despite his attempt to be discreetly out of the way.

“So I have. He is truly one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever met. Maybe I will gain his trust enough and his friendship and manage to bring him home on the ship I catch later on.” Fenris was not accustomed to all the flattery directed at him and flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck; he turned to at least not see their eyes upon him. “But as I said, I don’t own him. No one does, or should. The choice is his if he wishes to continue at my side. He is most welcome.”

She clearly saw something in Anders that put her off. “Well, then good luck to you, Shon. I am not so keen to be quite that close to one of those.”

Anders muttered and watched her walk off into the market, “Your loss, Lady. I’d rather have an elf in my bed than anyone else.”

Fenris thought he would choke in shock. When he finally recovered, he snarled at Anders. “Leto and Shon!? Never call me Leto… ever! And lies… how can you lie so easily. Do you lie that easily to me?”

“I never lied. What I told her was nothing but the truth.” Now that Anders had rested his knee for long enough, he wandered toward the market, too, leaving Fenris behind.

Fenris caught up to him, still trying to puzzle out what he just learned. “But your name is Anders.”

“And Hawke’s name is Hawke. But that’s just his family name. Bethany Hawke and Brayden Hawke. All Fereldans have two names. I just get called Anders because it was … it’s … I was the only Anders to ever end up in a Circle as a mage. They called me Anders as an insult and no one has called me anything else since. Except you and Varric. Blondie? Really? Can’t he be more original? He’s blond too. Fenris? Your eyes are as big as Merril’s. Did I say something too strange?”

Fenris shook out his head, recovered his brooding glare, and walked along beside the mage. Then it hit him. He even stumbled a moment. Anders’ flattery toward him wasn’t a lie either? He flushed red all over again and was glad Anders either didn’t notice or at least pretended to not notice. “Shon,” he decided to test out the name and was rewarded with an almost shy tilt of Anders head and an even shier smile. “You’re limping still.” The smile faded.

“When we find an inn and bunk down, I’ll rub salve into my knee. I’ve lived with it for more than half my life and no one has cared or noticed before. I’ll be fine.”

Fenris found himself wanting to find the Templar who hobbled Anders and rip out his heart. Then, thinking more on the subject, he decided he was going to punch Hawke out too for never bothering to notice or care when he really should have. Hawke could be so ignorant, self-absorbed, and inconsiderate sometimes! How was it that he can see so much and yet be so blind at the same time?! “Are you really a Laird? Isn’t that some lord or something?”

Anders pondered how to explain, “Well, yes. Laird is the name given any noble. I won’t actually inherit anything unless my father is dead and King Alistair is feeling very forgiving of my actions. Then I suppose I would become the Lord Bann of the Anderfels.” After a few more ponderous moments, Anders ventured, “How about I call you Wolf while we are here?”

Fenris flashed a feral fanged wolfish grin, “Yes.” He liked that, liked it as much as Fenris for a name. Definitely liked it more than Leto, as long as Anders never said Little Wolf.

“Just… no biting.”

“Not unless you ask me to.”

Anders staggered this time, caught totally off guard by Fenris’ stray comment. Things like that always threw him. Fenris reveled in the moment as he snapped his teeth with a clack. It wasn’t easy to catch Anders off guard with a verbal banter and Fenris decidedly enjoyed every rare instance he managed it.

 


	21. Oliphant

He wasn’t sure if he could tolerate a “shopping” day with Anders. Hawke once had one with Anders and when Fenris heard about how Anders flitted from stall to stall like a child ogling too many shiny things, he worried he might kill the mage before they found an inn. Strange, how back then when Anders had moved in with Hawke and had wealth from their missions that when they went shopping and he ogled kiosks annoyingly, he never bought anything. Fenris had to consider this as he side-glanced the mage from time to time. His wary stance and warrior instincts kept him watching all around them for danger or trouble. As he considered the oddity of Anders not spending money, he concluded that either the mage was frugal or was so used to being poor and not owning anything that he was too uncomfortable buying things. This latter was Fenris’ problem. He had lots of money, according to Varric, but didn’t really know the monetary value of some things and felt too much anxiety spending his money in case it was suddenly not there when he needed it.

Kirkwall had been a city, upon a city, upon a city if you thought of each district as its own city. Docks, Gallows, Darktown, Lowtown, and Hightown. Each had a market of sorts. The docks has some sales happen off of ships or in stray warehouses, maybe a shady merchant in a darkened nook or under a bridge. Darktown offered the smugglers hovels to sell from that no one talked about, or a merchant of illegal wares could be found in a sewer. Lowtown and Hightown had the actual markets. Eight to ten shops and stalls often selling a variety of items. Specialists were few. Even the Gallows had the Tranquil hawking enchanted items from stalls in the courtyard. But the market here in Traiders Bay put them all to shame. Fenris hadn’t even seen such a cluster of so many merchants in one place in all of Tevinter! Ten times as many stalls selling stuff in one tenth the space of the average market square.

The colors and smells collided with the people. Anders did indeed flit from stall to stall, ignoring the pain in his aching knee. Fenris rolled his eyes, but stayed close. He didn’t wear his full armor and repeatedly considered returning to the ship for it. Anders dressed casually, like a lower noble with some of Hawke's leather armor they came on board with. Fenris found it made Anders look both stylish and roguish. No wonder it appealed to the women around. Yes, all the women. Fenris ground his teeth as Anders flirted blatantly with anyone at each stall. Sometimes he seemed to flirt with the items and not the people, the effect was the same. As was the end result. The merchant lowered their prices and Anders complimented them but still declined purchase.

Anders lingered at a stall with mage staffs. He pretended to know little of them and listened to the merchant expound upon them to another apostate. Fenris leaned in, his shoulder pressing against Anders’ and whispered, “You should think about getting a new one since you have none.”

Anders stiffened. “No.” He turned abruptly and walked away to look at something else.

Fenris shook his head. Anders had not had one since Fenris found him wasting away in that little den in Darktown. He never brought up why Anders didn’t have one, or what happened to the fine one he did have, or why he didn’t get a new one. But now that they were traveling, Fenris felt there might be a need. The fight against the darkspawn on that ship proved that to him. Why was Anders being so stubborn?

Anders stopped at a stall with foreign substances in jars. Powders, grains, seeds, and even lyrium. Anders looked at a vial of powdered unicorn horn skeptically. The merchant reached under the ledge of his stall for something and placed a full unicorn horn before Anders. Fenris thought the mages eyes would fall from his head. The slight tug and sensation of magic so close to Fenris made him tense till he realized it was Anders. It was so subtle and faint. Anders chewed his lower lip a long while after that tiny trickle of explorative magic. Fenris grew impatient and barked, “How much for the vial?”

“Three sovereigns”

“WHAT?!” that broke Anders from his entrancement. “Three? That’s crazy. No, I’ll wait till I get to the Anderfels.”

The merchant then started to bargain his way down a little. When Anders looked almost willing to pay the price but started to waffle, Fenris said, “Done. Pay the man, Shon.”

Anders paid the single gold sovereign and added the vial of shining white powder to the small collection of healing potions in his pelt pouch. “I can’t believe you convinced me to pay for that? Unicorns are like vermin in the mountains of the Anderfels.”

“You already drooled on the vial. He couldn’t sell it to anyone else.”

Anders shot Fenris an indignant look. “Between the two of us, you are by far more the animal than I.”

“Says the man who had flees from Darktown for six years.”

“I did NOT!” His voice pitched up in disgust and shock. Then he realized Fenris was joking, and laughed. “You had me there.”

Fenris smirked a tiny bit. Then he suddenly growled as a group of urchins dashed past them pickpocketing people. One had touched his bare skin and his markings lit at the contact.

The urchin stopped, “Ooo… he’s magic! He glows when you touch him!”

That started a new game for the wild little homeless. Fast like cockroaches. They would dart by and tag Fenris. Flash… growl… flash… GROWL! Finally he caught one in his claws. The kid nearly wet himself, with his heart literally gripped inside his chest by the angry elf.

Anders gently placed a hand on Fenris’ wrist and another on the boy’s shoulder and eased a separation. “Mind where you put your hands, now. It is very rude to touch other people so intimately.” It was hard to tell exactly who Anders spoke to, the boy or Fenris. The words applied to both equally. He let the boy go and deftly caught a second boy trying to pickpocket him in the distraction. Fenris was impressed by the swift dexterity and thought maybe it was a talent Anders learned out of necessity in Darktown.

A rough man swaggered out of the shadows, “Excellent. You caught one of the thieves. I’ll take him off your hands. He can join the others in the pens below. Maybe someone could make use of him.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide, “No,” he whimpered in a bare whisper. “My sister… no… no one will care for her…” he started to hyperventilate in his panic, his eyes darting to a nook in the back alley. Anders followed it to see a small girl of maybe five years huddled frightened there while he still held the wrist of the boy of many nine.

Anders looked up, “I’m sorry. I was the one who caught him. He is mine to decide the fate of or to keep as I choose. Take your hunt elsewhere slaver.”

The man scoffed and wandered away.

Fenris glared deadly daggers at Anders. How dare he?! What right did he have? Fenris thought Anders hated the idea of slavery.

Anders ignored the glaring that stabbed little prickles all down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time before Fenris would snap and just kill him outright for this. He pulled a silver out of his pocket and pressed it into the boy’s palm. “Find us a good inn, clean, with decent food and a room I can share with my friend. Then you and your sister may join us for a meal and I will give you a second silver for the efforts. And no more trying to pickpocket me. I have too much experience catching little hands.”

Fenris felt disarmed by what he overheard. Even more so to be called friend. His anger evaporated.

The boy darted away directly to his sister.

“He might never come back.”

Anders shrugged. “That’s alright. And please, never look at me like that again. We may not know each other very well, but I thought you knew me at least better than that.”

Fenris’ ears burned with shame as Anders continued his exploration of the market. Anders pawed silks and lush velvets at a fabric shop while Fenris recovered from his shame. He swept a gaze this way and that as usual to ensure no one followed or hinted at being a danger to them. Usually Anders would chide him for being paranoid, but not this time. Not here in this smuggler hidden island of forbidden wares, anything could happen. Anything could be encountered. A distant trumpeting sound reached Fenris’ ears and he grinned despite himself. He fumbled over his tongue a moment, “Shon,” he finally managed.

It still rocked Anders inside to hear his childhood name called, even though he announced it earlier that day. Hearing Fenris speak it was like listening to a very deep Dalish drum boom like soft thunder. And he heard that now three times today. “Wolf?” He knew never to call Fenris ‘little wolf’ as Danarius had. Fenris was no little wolf but far closer and near as scary as the old Elven tale of the Dread Wolf.

“This way. I hear another part of the market that sounds interesting with musicians.”

Anders brightened immediately to the idea of entertainment. He had heard of bards, jugglers, acrobats and play actors entertaining in Orlais or in Denerim, but to think some were practicing here in the market somewhere was like having a show for free. What a treat! Fenris lead the way and Anders almost wanted to take his hand as he had sometimes taken Hawke’s. His fingers brushed Fenris’ for a second, startling them both. Then Fenris caught Anders’ wrist in his right hand and tugged Anders around a corner.

Anders skidded to a halt and started to back-peddle. His back slammed into Fenris’ leather padded chest. His eyes widened so that the whites showed all around. Fenris snaked an arm around Anders’ waist to keep him from running. The trumpet sound emitted again from the creature before them. Huge. Grey. Wrinkled. Dragon-like wings flapped on either side of the head. Two white tusks jutted out but had been sawed short and filed round. A long tentacle extended from the front of its face towards Anders. His lips peels back in panicky rictus as he pressed harder into Fenris. A wide grey flat foot thumped forward, but a chain kept it from getting any closer. The legs looked as thick as tree trunks. It must weigh as much as a dragon. Fenris murmured in Anders’ ear that this is just a young one. Anders could not wrap his mind around what he saw. Them keeping some monster from the deep roads like a pet. And it was young?! An adult must be as big as a high dragon!

The creature stretched the facial tentacle to Anders outstretched hand. Anders recoiled as much as he could, but Fenris still held his wrist firmly, forcing him to reach closer to the monster. Ander tried to turn to run, twisting in the grip around his waist. His free hand gripped the collar of the leather chest guard and he buried his face into Fenris’ shoulder. A whimper escaped the mage as Fenris took a sure step forward, forcing them both closer.

“He is gentle. Relax.” Fenris rumbled softly into Anders’ ear. “This is a baby Oliphant.” He took another step closer and Anders cringed tighter into Fenris as the Oliphant curiously touched the outstretched hand. Gentle, shy, nuzzling, not unlike a curious kitten.

It took several minutes and a snickering crowd watching the scene for Anders to peak back at the creature nosing his hand with its long trunk. The wings flapped forward and Fenris explained in short terms that those were its ears. That the mouth was close to the face under the long nose. That it ate only plants. That they could be trained. He was rewarded by Anders relaxing in his arms and tried hard to not think about how comfortable that was, as much as when Anders had leaned into him the other night on the deck. Thinking became impossible when Anders’ free hand touched over his and the fingers laced into his nervously. His markings flared a moment till he forced himself under control. This was too amazing a moment to let his markings disturb it.

Anders slowly turned back to face the oliphant who made cute questioning noises at him. As Anders relaxed further, Fenris opened his hand, releasing Anders’ wrist. Anders kept his hand out as the trunk curled around it. “This is an oliphant,” whispered Anders as his own curiosity and wonderment started to smother his fear now that he no longer felt like he was going to be eaten alive by a giant grey skinned monster. His fingers tightened in Fenris’ as he eased himself a little closer to the creature. Then he let Fenris’ hand go to touch the oliphant’s ear.

Fenris shook his head at how cowardly Anders could be sometimes. He really was a scaredy cat. How he managed to become a Warden fighting darkspawn, Fenris could not fathom. Templars had to be really really terrifying for Anders to consider being a Warden a joy ride to freedom from them. It left him with questions that he chose to leave unasked as he watched Anders petting and exploring this new creature, a huge relaxed grin on his face like a Tevinter noble child who just got his first pony for his name day gift at the age of ten. Fenris smiled at Anders’ infectious joy.


	22. Of Cats and Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song in this chapter is "Iris" by The Googoo Dolls.

Fenris smiled at Anders infectious joy. He flexed the fingers of his left hand as he could still feel the tingle of Anders’ fingers laced there, even though they were now gone. He returned his attention to scanning the crowd like the twitchy warrior he was, half listening to Anders asking the oliphant’s caretaker every question under the sun about the animal. Where did it come from? How long did it live? Is it live born or egg hatched? What does it eat? Can one ride them? Do they make good pets? How big do they get? And on and on.

The next hour of walking through Traiders Bay market, Fenris had to listen to Anders regale him with the new knowledge. Fenris didn’t bother to say that he already knew all this. He ignored most of the words and enjoyed simply the rare tones of excitement and happiness. He knew they would not last. Anders never wallowed in this joy, it was like a fast burning flame that glowed beautifully and brightly and snuffed itself out too soon. There was the sigh, the snuffing of the flame.

“I suppose that will be the last time I see one,” Anders said sadly. Truth yanking him back to earth with the cold reality that the good things never lasted and would never be his, ever. Justice was cold and berating him in his head already, or was it his own conscience. Anders covered his annoyance and distress with snide remarks in jest.

Fenris scowled, then wrinkled his face with embarrassment as his stomach growled as loudly as he could when he was angry.

Anders looked over and then down at Fenris’ stomach with a raised eyebrow, stifling his snickering barely… or not. “Why don’t we find some food? I saw some sweet bread rolls over there and some hot meat and rice stalls that way.” He pointed in each direction. He tapped the small money pouch at Fenris' belt. “You go get the meal, and I will get some dessert and something to drink. We’ll meet back uhm… there, on those benches.”

Fenris snatches the coin and escaped Anders’ snickering, furious with having been just laughed at. He grumbled and snarled all the way to the little meat stall that was openly grilling various kinds of meat and stir frying it with rice and vegetables. The smells filled his nose and made his mouth water. How had the blighted mage noticed this place and remembered it when he had not. Must be some instinct learned in Darktown, like being able to catch pickpocketing children without looking. The meat was foreign and he asked what it was. Some hairy lizard common for these islands. At least it wasn’t fish. He paid for a large helping that he and Anders could share, never thinking anymore about the habit that they developed of sharing meals like this. The idea of mystery meat hatched a plan to get the mage back for laughing at him.

He wiped his smirk from his face long before he reached the bench and sat to wait for the apostate. Anders soon returned with two honey-coated buns and a bottle of fruit juice still chilled from the mage that was selling it.

Fenris eyed the juice skeptically. “Give it up. Stop scowling. It is just juice. The mage is working with some other merchant. He is practically useless as a mage and can just barely cast enough magic to chill the drinks,” Anders quipped at Fenris before he could make any comments about apostates freely working here in this market of illegal wares by illegal peoples.

Fenris should have paid more attention to the mild testy tone before he opened his mouth with his own very rare jest, “By the way, the meat is cat. Pretty god for cat.”

Anders had just about swallowed his third mouthful when he looked suddenly stricken. He stood so fast, Fenris had to scramble to not lose their shared meal on the ground. Anders backed away spitting his food from his mouth. Fenris smirked and sniggered a little, till Anders forced himself to vomit up what little he had eaten. Anders shot him a look that cut down to Fenris’ soul, a look Fenris never thought anyone would direct at him. A look of having been completely and utterly betrayed. “Hey! It was just a joke.”

Anders backed away from him, spitting the taste of bile out. “I don’t believe you! You made me eat cat!” He backed away another step. “I hate you!” and he bolted.

Fenris frantically wrapped the food and shoved it and the bottle into their abandoned backpack and took chase. “Wait! Vanhedis!! WAIT!” He caught up to him and fell into pace a little behind and to Anders’ right.

Anders refused to look at him, “Don’t speak to me.”

“But…”

“I said don’t speak to me!” Anders snarled, still not looking back. So much hurt and distrust filled his voice that Fenris knew he yet again crossed a line he should not have. The initial joke turned out to be a very unpleasant surprise and not at all funny. He didn’t want to push this, not when Anders could so easily lose control and become vengeance in this crowd.

Fenris fell back a couple paces to give Anders some space and followed like a silent shadow. He still needed to make sure Anders was safe here. He also didn’t want to lose track of him, knowing that there were Tevinter people here. Someone might recognize Fenris and, as much as he hated to admit it, he might need Anders help. As it was, he wanted to kill that woman who flirted with Anders this morning and commented about Anders’ pretty marked slave. It twisted in his gut that he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kill her for calling him a slave, for potentially being a danger to him if she knew who he was, or for flirting with Anders as if she had some right to get that close to Fenris’ charge.

Anders felt so angry, marrow deep angry, at Fenris. Joke or not, that was horrible. Fenris knew how much Anders liked cats. Didn’t he? Hadn’t Anders spoken often enough about how amazing they were? How much he missed and loved them? He wanted to shoot another nasty look at Fenris but chose cold silence instead. Mostly because his anger always confused him. Anders had a hard time determining if it was indeed his own feelings. It took him almost two more hours and the sky darkening for him to conclude that this anger at Fenris was all his own. CAT! Fenris tried to feed him cat! Anders didn’t eat the food in Darktown on purpose in case he might end up eating cat.

His empty stomach now gnawed at him. He paused, clutching his hungry belly a moment while he gathered his thoughts. A dark hand with white lines of lyrium branding reached past him holding out a honeyed bun.

Fenris wasn’t sure if Anders would refuse the offering. It wasn’t like Anders to hold grudges, but that really depended on the subject. Fenris added cats to the list of those subjects, like mages. Thankfully it was a short list. Anders gently took the proffered bun, but maintained his silence. Anders silence unnerved and upset Fenris more than he was comfortable with. Anders was never silent, not unless his thoughts were so dark and self-destructive or if he was so deeply hurt he couldn’t even joke his way into covering it up. Fenris preferred Anders beating him with a wooden plate in pure fury to this silence.

Two children stepped between them. The pickpocket from before and his little sister. “We found an inn for you. But it took us a while to find you.”

They followed the kids to the inn where Anders ordered them all hot meals at a table by the fire. He performed small magic tricks for the children. Fenris was about to berate him for using magic, but there was no pull on his brands to indicate a pull of Fade essence. Anders then showed the children the secrets of his sleight-of-hand tricks and they left happy, with full bellies and a new way to earn some coin.

Anders lingered long enough to finish his ale before requesting a room and bath. He was handed a key by the innkeeper and told there was a water spout on his floor but he would have to heat and drain the water himself. They climbed the stairs to the third floor and found their room. He sighed with heavy annoyance.

Fenris looked over Anders’ shoulder into the room and echoed the annoyed sigh. There were two small cots that met like an L in the far corner, one on each wall. A tub barely large enough to bathe in was hedged into the corner by the door. The empty wall hosted a small fireplace with a large kettle. It afforded no privacy, much like their tiny room on Athenril’s ship, where they did not have the option to bathe. They both itched for a bath though.

Anders stepped inside and grabbed the kettle to fill it from the water spout in the hall. This was going to be awkward. While Fenris knew Anders had seen him naked, and detested the idea he might have been gawked at, Anders had refused to ever be caught naked, no matter his state, even when he suffered mage shock. The room had no curtain or screen or anything to shield someone in the bath from prying eyes.

“Apostate… Shon…”

“No, still not talking to you.”

Fenris clenched his teeth and his fists. He thudded down to sit on a cot that he decided was his and dug through their backpack for clean clothes.

It took many trips to bring water and heat it for the bath, keeping Anders busy.

Once the tub was full and steaming, Anders shrugged a shoulder uncomfortably. Fenris stated in a quiet rumble, “Take the first bath. I won’t look,” and he dropped back onto his cot and turned to face the wall. He frowned at the stone wall trying to puzzle out why Anders was so uncomfortable about being naked. He was a healer and saw naked people all the time. By the Void, he already saw Fenris naked. Fenris listened to the shuffle and rustle of Anders disrobing. Every motion layered with shy anxiety and smelling of fear. Fenris could smell it in the air. He tried to shut out the sounds of Anders sinking into the water and washing, but couldn’t. He determinedly ignored the rudeness of his body that clearly intended to disobey his thoughts. Correction, his thoughts disobeyed his intentions too as they drifted to that kiss. Why did he do it? That hard almost angry kiss in the small room. The warm feeling of Anders leaning his back against his chest on the deck of the boat. He rolled from the bed and Anders squeaked out a distressed noise. Fenris didn’t stick around to listen or look. He headed right out the door.

 _(What in the Void is WRONG with me?!)_ Fenris silently paced the hallway, walking off the unwanted arousal. He stopped midstride when he heard something he never expected. At first he wanted to laugh at the stupid mage for doing it, but the tenor voice rose in soft trembling notes not loud enough for someone to make out the words, unless you were Fenris with an ear to the door.

And I'd give up forever to touch you  
Cuz I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now

 _(Touch me?)_ It shocked Fenris that maybe Anders had such thoughts and recalled the mage yelling that the next time the kiss had better be meant. Had Anders wanted Fenris all this time? When did that start? Fenris looked down at the lyrium marks in his hand. It was like touching the Fade which some had referred to as heaven if he remembered so long ago how bits of the Fade brought lucidity to Karl. The words of home. Fereldan. Wasn’t that like home to Anders. Was he afraid to go back? Fenris listened more with a crease between his eyebrows. Anders hummed between some of the verses, stumbling and shy, the loneliness there in the very bones of his voice.

And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
Cuz sooner or later it's over  
I just don't want to miss you tonight  
  
And I don't want the world to see me  
Cuz I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am

Fenris pressed his brow to the door as he listened, the frown softening as he listened. He wondered now if the song was for him or simply the whole world. The song could have been sung by him for how true it rang in his own soul.

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
Or the moment of truth in your lies  
When everything feels like the stories  
Yeah, you'd bleed just to know you're alive  
  
And I don't want the world to see me  
Cuz I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am

Fenris swallowed and closed his eyes.

And I don't want the world to see me  
Cuz I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's made to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
I just want you… to know… who I am  
I just …

Anders voice broke into soft sobs. A light splash of water as his hands rose to cover his face. He took in many rough and ragged breaths to regain some composure before standing and drying off.

Fenris waited for sounds of Anders finishing, dressing and climbing into the other cot. Only then did he come back into the room.

Anders' clothing had also been washed and was draped over a convenient bar by the fireplace. The mage was already under his blanket, back to the rest of the room. Fenris was glad. He could pinch the moisture from his eyes without being seen. Anders’ wet hair dampened the pillow as it fell loose and naturally curled in stray places that begged Fenris to touch. He didn’t though. Instead he stripped down and sank into the cooling water to wash himself and his clothes as Anders had. He froze as Anders rolled over to face him and relaxed when he realized Anders was actually tossing in his sleep, an anguished expression on his face, which was still slightly blotchy from the earlier sobbing.

As Fenris dried off and dressed, he thought how much he was becoming doomed as he had with Hawke and at what point he forgot that Anders was a mage, not just a mage but an apostate and a possessed one at that. He tried to think what it might be like in Anders’ boots with a broody elf warrior always at your heel. He wondered if that moment sitting on the deck was when things really changed. Or that kiss. He shook his head and hung his washed clothing next to Anders’.

He heard a startled gasp as Anders woke suddenly from whatever chased him in his dreams. Fenris sat down upon his own cot, followed by amber eyes. He waited till the tension ebbed. “About earlier,” he began, “It was a joke.”

“In poor taste.” Anders smirked and snickered.

It took Fenris a minute or two to catch the pun and buried his face into a hand. “Ugh! Festa vass…”

Anders explained more somberly, “Cats are very important to me. To eat one is tantamount to cannibalism as far as I am concerned. Templars put me in isolation... for a year. I would have died long ago in that cellif it weren’t for a cat, Mr. Wiggums. Don’t play that joke on me again please. I love when you joke and smile, because it is so rare and fun. But… just not that one.”

Fenris nodded and opened his mouth to speak. The words caught in his throat after the compliment from Anders. He closed his mouth and took a deep breath. “Do not laugh at me. It makes me feel like I am a slave being paraded about in some silly costume for entertainment, or worse, naked for the magisters to laugh at.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” his apology deeply heartfelt. “I never knew. I suppose I should have guessed. I don’t like being laughed at either. Templars did that often for… a number of reasons.”

And once again Fenris saw the similarities between them and realized that this is what Hawke had been trying to tell him for six years. He and Anders may have been from very different worlds and have very different backgrounds, but some of the traumatic things that have happened in their lives was not so different. Fenris stretched out on his side still watching Anders, briefly lost in the flickering warmth of the dying candle light in those amber eyes. ( _Does he know how scared I can be sometimes? Does he know how much I hurt? Or how lonely I feel? How uncertain and frustrated and angry at the world? Does he understand? I want him to know who I am too, but… how?)_

The two drifted off to sleep lost in thought and in the shades of amber honey and silvery green moss.


	23. Cannot Fly

Anders had closed his eyes wondering why Fenris had stared at him in so much silence for so long. Usually, he would have expected danger, but the look was too soft with a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows that left Anders wondering if Fenris had troubling thoughts. He wondered what it might be like to be so close and gazing into those mossy eyes. His thoughts drifted to his time with the Dalish, his time in a forest, on the move from Templars. His dreams slid through many real and not real moments.

Fenris had watched for a long time. He had seen jars of very expensive honey lining a window in Danarius’ estate and how beautiful and warm they looked as the sun shone through the dark red-brown-gold. Sun through dark honey. That was the color of the mage’s eyes. The feel of Anders’ magic over his body and through his lyrium brands flowed slow and gentle most of the time. It always tingled and made the brands flicker to life, warming like a fireplace and then cooling like the scent of mint and elfroot. While Fenris often growled and griped, it wasn’t that it hurt, but that he expected it to. And when it didn’t, it felt like a violation. But sometimes it felt like how he thought that warm honey would feel like. Sometimes he wanted that magical feeling of Anders and didn’t at the same time. It had become habit to reject Anders’ magic. As he allowed sleep to sweep over him, he promised himself to try to trust the apostate more, allow him to do more healing or try to ease the ache from the lyrium. Oh, maybe rub his feet again. Fenris sighed contentedly in his sleep. Mmmm… foot massage with hints of velvety warm cool magic. Bliss.

The night passed in so much tranquility that Fenris rolled from bed gritting his teeth against the pain of the burn in his brands. It was his own fault. He knew to wake. It was just so quiet, so calm, so comfortable. What he wouldn’t give to be able to sleep as long as the mage slept. Once the searing pain ebbed down to tolerable, he moved through a series of exercises and worked out the lyrium flow till he felt relatively normal again, well normal for Fenris.

Anders was still asleep. The blanket tangled around him as he had fidgeted and rolled. Fenris carefully tugged the blanket here and there to untangle it. Anders made small noises of annoyance with a wrinkled pouty face that always of late made Fenris press his lips tight trying not to smile. He flopped back into his own bed for another four hours, which he never got.

Two hours in and Anders was tossing and crying out and struggling. Fenris shot awake and reached for his sword. Realizing it was just the apostate in a nightmare, he released his grip on the hilt and headed over to the mage to wake him. He shook him and shook him. Anders struggled against him, his skin breaking for Justice to shine through. The struggle turned more fierce and full of anger and confusion as Fenris held Anders down and snarled back and forth with the spirit to release the mage. Anders let out a yell of panic and gripped Fenris’ shirt, eyes wide in terror for several moments as he took in the room and where he was and with whom.

“Don’t kill me,” Anders pleaded in a small frightened voice.

Fenris cursed in Arcanum this time about the damnable spirit and possessed apostates. He pried Anders hands from his shirt and before he could back away even six inches for them both to relax, Anders smashed a pillow into his face as if he had understood the foul words that had spilled from Fenris’ mouth. At least it was just a pillow and not a plate. “What the Void!? Fool apostate! Justice had you for ten whole minutes with no intention of letting you go!” Fenris snarled.

Anders sat up and buried his face in his hands, digging his fingers into his messy hair. Fenris sat on the same bed as Anders. The mage heaved fast breaths trying to sort out what triggered the spirit, what caused the loss of control and gave up. Fenris inched closer. He cautiously touched Anders’ arms and tugged his hands from his face. “Look at me. It is over. You are in control again.”

“Am I? Am I ever?”

“Yes.”

Anders seemed to relax at the elf’s firm flat statement. If Fenris is sure, then it must be true. Fenris then turned and leaned his back against the wall. He stiffened in surprise as Anders shuffled around and curled up on his side, dropping his head in Fenris’ lap. This was a first. Fenris’ hands hovered in the air unsure where to rest. His shoulders tense in both surprise and awkwardness. At least Anders did not look up to see the brief mortified look on the elf’s face. Very slowly, Fenris lowered his hands, one to Anders’ shoulder and the other into Anders’ hair. He could not believe he was doing this, while the mage was awake. But where else was he to put his hands? Anders sighed as if he had held his breath, afraid to trust Fenris with this closeness and relieved that it was ok. This was the second time that Anders was cuddled into Fenris. Both were unsure of the situation or what it could mean between them. Fenris recognized that Anders needed this. Normally he would not coddle the mage, or anyone, but sometimes Anders seemed so fragile. Sometimes Anders could seem so strong too, just not at this moment.

“If our roles were reversed, would you do this for me?” Fenris wanted to know.

“It has been sometimes. When you are hurt and need healing. And if our roles were truly reversed. Yes, I would do this and more.”

Fenris frowned, “More?”

Anders shrugged. “You would be counting on me to keep you rooted to the here and now. You would want to, need to trust that I would do anything to protect you and those around you.”

“I will… and do,” Fenris assured him.

They sat quietly for a long time like this, Anders tasting this conversation piece by piece. “Fenris? Do your brands hurt all the time? Does my healing help at all?”

“Yes… and… yes. But don’t… don’t just go healing. Warn me and let me decide if I am ready. Touching me skin to skin sets them off… sets off memories and confusion, and sometimes it is too much to handle. Sometimes it stirs pain and that too can be too much. And magic… is too close to what I lived with. I fear… I fear and hate the feeling of magic inside me. Danarius used to control me, like a puppet, I could see and think but my body was not my own. If he was very certain I would be compliant, he allowed me the freedom to walk and serve without his control in me. But often…” He spilled it all out and then… couldn’t. He could not continue to describe that loss of bodily control to another.

That was way more than Anders had expected to hear when he asked. Fenris had opened up and trusted him for the first time in all the time Anders could remember. He didn’t want to let go of the moment. “Is that what happened when Danarius was in the Hanged Man?”

Fenris clenched Anders shoulder and hair without thinking. The question touched his deepest fears. Anders’ fingers delicately touched the edges of Fenris’, coaxing them to relax. Fenris allowed it, found he needed this as much as Anders did, found he in turn wanted to be the one curled in a ball being cuddled and comforted. The reassurance that the terrible things are not there right this moment. It took several minutes for Fenris to voice his answer, “Yes. He was… inside me. Forcing me to draw my blade, to tap the lyrium for power, to kill… Hawke. I tried to fight him, but I could not. I was… nothing.”

“Screaming behind your eyes where no one could hear you,” Anders added. Anders knew exactly what it felt like.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, I heard you.”

“How did you stop him?” Fenris felt safe enough to talk about this experience that he had not been able to face for years.

The mage huffed out a breath. “I was bloody determined to kill him. I am sorry he escaped. A second more and I would have happily ripped his arms off and watched him bleed to death.”

Fenris laughed. It was strange to hear Anders speak like a cold and deadly warrior. His fingers carded appreciatively through Anders hair.

Sometime after breakfast, they locked their pack in the pathetic trunk under one of their cots, not worried for the minimal stuff in it in case it got robbed. They didn’t bring anything important for that reason. But they had secured the room for three days.

“I don’t think it matters if I call you Fenris, Fenris. That Tevinter woman seemed to know who you were.”

There were times Fenris got side tackled by Anders’ conversations that practically started out of the Void. “She knew what I was,” he corrected, “not who. I was not a who when I belonged to Danarius. I meant nothing to him but the tool he could use or show off.”

“You are not nothing to me, never a what.”

Fenris fell into step beside Anders in one of the merchant corridors. “I thought I was a vicious rabid dog or a vicious killer according to your journal.”

Anders winced facially and across his shoulders. “That… uh… that was a long-ish while ago. I was scared to death of you. I never saw anyone who could make their hand shift partly into the Fade and then shove it into someone’s chest to rip their heart out. That’s scary as shit! Like, standing alone unarmed in the Deep Roads kind of scary!”

Then, just as suddenly out of the Void and like a magpie, Anders was instantly distracted, “Ohhhh… pretty…” He admired long porcupine quills and fine bound blank books. Then at another stall bottles of colored glass filled with rare substances. “OH! Ivory!” He lifted a powder filled bottle. “This is so illegal and near impossible to find even in the black markets of Fereldan! It is rarer than lyrium and as expensive. It must be the most difficult mineral to mine.”

Fenris snorted a short laugh, and then another at Anders’ confused and annoyed glance. “That’s because it is strictly from Tevinter. And it is not a mineral.”

“What are you talking about? It is a rare spell component. The books I read clearly identify it as a mineral. You aren’t a mage, how would you know?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Alright, it is a mineral of sorts. And I belonged to a magister so I know a fair amount about magic. And ivory in its natural raw form is not mined but chopped from oliphants.”

“Oliphants?” Anders stopped walking to turn his startled gaze upon the elven warrior.

“Their tusks are ivory.”

Anders blinked and set the bottle down as the merchant started to insist on payment. “Well, Andraste’s smalls! So many books have to be changed.”

They meandered into a more open area with a lookout to the sea. Both paused and rested a foot on the low stone ledge. Fenris looked over the side at the waves lapping almost a hundred feet below. Anders peeked over. “Can you swim, Fenris?”

“No.”

“What?! You agreed to get onto a ship, climb to the top of the mast, and leap across to a blighted ship attacking us and you don’t know how to swim? When we get to Fereldan… after winter, sometime in the warmer weather, I’ll teach you how to swim.” He turned and stretched and walked toward a wooden weapons stall to look longingly at mage staffs then at bows. “Nate would like these,” he commented as he watched the bow maker sitting on a stool shaping a bow. Fenris was not beside him and he felt a bit foolish for appearing like he was talking to himself.

He looked around and saw Fenris standing rigid and white at the lookout, something between panic and fury in his green eyes. Two Tevinter guards walked towards Fenris in Anders’ absence. Anders clenched a fists, consider calling up magic and then deciding not to just yet. The point was for him to be the unknown. If he used his usual magic, then someone would tell someone and the Templar hunters would be closer to finding him. Well, a different hunter found Fenris.

“Look what I’ve found,” drawled a mage from Tevinter. “If it isn’t the long lost Little Wolf. You know, I had a hand in your making. Nice to know the locks I helped develop still grant me power in you. I might not be able to make you do things as Danarius did, but I can hold you good and tight till I bring you home. What luck to have you--”

“RELEASE HIM!” snarled Anders understanding now what was happening. He stepped from the stall with the bows having grabbed one of the staffs not yet shaved into the shape of a bow.

Fenris wanted to yell for Anders to run. This magister would use blood magic against Anders, and armed guards. And he did. Fenris sweated in his struggle, muscles straining, lyrium flaring, but he was locked in place and flanked by those two hunter guards. Trapped. Unable to protect Anders. Unable to move any part of him or voice his fury.

Ahead people started to run and hide away from the impending fight. The staff twirled with practiced ease. Anders even tossed small cantrip spells to try to distract the magister and to make him think he was less powerful than he was. It worked.

“Fenris,” the magister called, “You have latched onto a weakling like this? He’s practically a little girl twirling a parade baton for the festival. Does he really think he can fight me?” he laughed.

Anders dodged, swung the staff out and around, Fenris had to admire the skill. A two-handed hold and thrust rammed the middle into the face plate of a third Tevinter guard. For once all Fenris could do was watch. The Wardens had taught Anders well. He managed to take out one of the other guards the magister ordered forward. A jab, a swing, the feet went out from under the armored man. Anders danced away from the sword and grasping hand, working his way ever closer to the magister, throwing tiny bits of ice magic at him, his only offensive forms of magic. Fenris wondered what the Void the mage was doing? How had he defeated Danarius with his useless offensive magic. Maybe it was Justice you fought Danarius with lightening that was not of Anders knowledge without the spirit.

The Magister laughed behind his spirit shield that allowed none of Anders ineffectual spells through. Then Anders spun full around, the stick in the air swept over and forward and the butt poked right through the shield. A shield that wasn’t meant to defend against a physical object. The butt of the staff slammed into the magisters throat. Eyes bulged. Shield failed. Fenris could have and would have cheered, but he was still trapped. Fenris vowed to tell Varric how absolutely amazing Anders was! And terrifying and dark too. Anders watched impassively as the magister crumpled gasping and suffocating on the floor, clutching at his throat where the windpipe had been crushed. For a healer, this was not a side Fenris ever thought to witness. What would make Anders, without Justice? Or was this Justice/Vengeance’s influence? And yet Fenris thought it funny how Anders thought Fenris was terrifying. People ran screaming from Anders who seemed perfectly content to watch this man die very very slowly. A shiver raced down Fenris’ spine. Then he realized he was free from the magister’s hold. The magister was dead. His lip curled as he flicked green fire eyes to one guard. Anders turned his attention too to the guards and started marching forward. “Back away from him now or you will share that magister’s fate!” yelled Anders. Fenris felt so proud.

The second guard sneered. “You value him so much? Our orders are if Danarius cannot have him, then no one can!” He shoved Fenris, just enough to overbalance him.

The elven warrior stumbled back. The stone ledge caught his heel and over he went.

“NO!!” Anders screamed and rushed forward. “FENRIS!!”

Fenris’ stomach must have been left in the market. The air wooshed around. He tried to right himself like a cat, but there was too much distance in the fall and the water was swiftly rushing up at him, or him down at it. He hadn’t realized the yell that was ripped from him instinctually. He lost focus and got spun again in the air, seeing Anders leaning far over the ledge thrusting his hand out and casting some magic. The spell never reached Fenris as he fell just out of range and farther. Water slammed into him as if he hit solid marble. Bones broke and the desperate air in his lungs left him. Cold dark water engulfed the elf, lyrium-shining hands frantically reached and grasped for Anders, grasping nothing. He flailed. He panicked. He yelled and gasped. Water took the place of air. Which way was even up? His vision blurred with the lack of oxygen. His brands flickered brightly with each desperate attempt to find the surface. Then Fenris was gone.

“No,” whimpered Anders as his spell failed to catch Fenris and the water swallowed the warrior.


	24. To Save a Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Get a tissue.

“No,” whimpered Anders as his spell failed to catch Fenris and the water swallowed the warrior. Two thoughts warred in Anders’ mind. Call upon Justice and obliterate the man who shoved Fenris off the cliff with all the magic and all of Vengeance in him. Or ignore them all and jump off after Fenris. The killing part pleased the spirit inside Anders more, but that would take too much very precious time that Fenris did not have. Anders backed up a few paces because he needed leverage, and then ran at the lookout ledge. Momentum carried him. A foot on the top of the low ledge and he pushed off. He spread his arms wide to catch the air. It was not unlike jumping the waterfalls in the Anderfels. He was good at that as a kid. He then brought his hands together and aimed himself down, gaging his breaths, timing them so his dive would be both relatively smooth and allow him a lungful of air.

People yelled in surprise from the market. The excitement was short-lived. The body of the magister was cleared away and soon the market life continued like nothing happened. Although, people whispered of the heroism of the poorly talented mage for a Tevinter slave. Some wondered if they died together in the dark waters. But that was all. People died in this black market. It was everyday fact.

Anders braced for the cold water as he dove in. Grateful for his skill in swimming, he rose again to the surface, seeing a small flicker of lyrium blue. He gulped air and dove down again after the light. His hand was an iron grip on the elf’s arm. The flickering died out along with all tension and struggle from Fenris. Hard strokes brought them both back to the surface. Anders gasped and treaded water, pulling Fenris face up. “Come on… breathe… breathe damn you!”

The rocks at the base of the cliff were close. It could have been a bloody mess if either had hit them or been smashed against them by the waves. This second, they were the most wondrous blessing. Anders swam them both to those rocks and found one with a flattish surface. He shoved Fenris up onto it and began forcing the water from his lungs. There was not enough room for them both on the ledge, not that Anders cared. All he cared about was seeing Fenris open his eyes or yell and curse him. ANYTHING!

He pressed his mouth over the elf’s and forced a breath into him. Then he cast a healing and did what he could to encourage the heart to beat. He had been so close to learning how to yank a spirit back into a body recently deceased, but not close enough. He had studied it, but not actually tried it. Breathe. Five presses to the chest. Breathe. Cast healing. Five presses to the chest. Breathe.

Fenris jerked. Coughed. Sputtered and coughed more water. Gasped. Fell from the small rock back into the water. And panicked, nearly drowning Anders.

Anders hugged him tightly and got him facing the rock where the warrior clung desperately. “Fenris, thank the Maker! I thought… I thought I lost you!”

The panic ebbed from Fenris as the sureness of the rock and the fact that he could breathe registered slowly. He looked up. It was such a long way up. What was Anders doing in the water? “What… how? Why are you in the water? Did they push you too?”

“No. I jumped.”

Fenris looked up again. Anders… jumped? After him? He… jumped? Fenris never knew anyone would do such a thing. Would Hawke do that? Risk his life where the odds of actually saving him were low and the odds of surviving were even lower? What a way to put a relationship into stark perspective. Anders jumped a hundred feet into cold sea water to save his life. Was there any possible way to repay that? Fenris started to shiver.

“We’ll have to swim it. The docks aren’t too far and Athenril’s ship is the closest. I can see it from here.” Anders pointed.

Fenris didn’t realize he was shaking his head in refusal. The idea of trying to venture away from the safe and solid rock was more than he could deal with.

“Fenris, I’ll swim for us both. You just have to hold on and not shove me under again. I won’t let you drown. I promise.” Anders tried to pry the elf free of the rock. “You have to. You are freezing and I am not going to let you die from shock and hyperthermia after I just got you breathing again. I’m too scared to go out into the world alone again. I can’t do it. I’ll end up an abomination and no one will even be there to stop it or care.”

Fenris cared. He let go of the rock and clawed into Anders’s shoulder. The mage winced but ignored the pain. It could be healed later. Swimming was one of Anders strong suits, not that it is remotely useful for jobs or anything. But it can save lives, like now. He swam as best he could with his passenger. Fenris never looked so scared. The cold seeped through his clothes, chilled all the bare parts of his body, froze in the lyrium brands, and set his teeth chattering. His eyes locked on Athenril’s ship that grew closer and closer. But the cold sank deeper into him and brought with it an exhaustion that beckoned stronger than any sleep potion. His hold started to slip.

Anders yelped and grabbed Fenris from sinking under the water. “Hey! Talk to me, Fenris… stupid blighted hateful… Fenris? Stay with me. We are almost there.” He got no response and soon had to shift how he swam to keep Fenris’ head above water.

Surprised sailors on Athenril’s ship dropped ropes down to hoist them to the deck. They wrapped blankets around each of them, but Fenris still did not stir. At least he breathed. Anders felt like he was falling apart. Too many thoughts, memories and emotions crashed into one another as he followed the sailors who carried Fenris to their shared tiny room. “I got this… I’ll take care of him.” Anders’ voice shook with every word. He could not get the images of Fenris drowning out of his head. The sailors gave them space with sympathetic nods.

Anders stripped his soaked clothing off and pulled on a single simple layer of dry slee[ clothes. Then he did the same for Fenris, without redressing the elf. He climbed into the bed and wrapped himself around him, pulling blankets over them. “You have been by my side for so long, longer than anyone ever has. Through all the ups and downs, arguing and yelling. But you never let up. You never left. Even when everyone else did. Fenris, stay with me now. I promise you I will never let them have you, or kill you, or… or… anything.” He babbled on and on for hours while his body heat slowly seeped into the unconscious warrior. Fenris did not even stir when four hours later the lyrium brands flared to life for several savage moment. Anders spoke of healing and slowly followed words with actions, gently pouring his healing energy into the elf and along all the intricate designs.

“I wish… I wish I were not possessed. Sometimes wish… I wasn’t a mage. Maybe then you and I could… But then, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He stroked his hand down Fenris’ body trailing warm healing magic, coaxing the body to recuperate, healing the broken bones. “I only ever wanted to be free and to heal people. I only ever wanted you to see me and know me. Know I would do anything to save lives. To save your life.” He sniffed and blinked back the tears that pricked his eyes. “I hate being alone. It is scary and hurts. I like having you here. I love your deep voice purring. I love your brutal honesty and how you speak like a noble even though you aren’t. I love how you stumble over words when you read. And… and the feel of your fingers in my hair…” His voice broke too much to keep talking. He stroked his fingers through the damp white hair and then buried his face into Fenris’ shoulder. “P-please wake up, Fenris.”


	25. Not the Waking World

“Wake up Fenris… wake up…”

A moment of searing pain was followed by something warm, something soothing, like soaking in a heated milk bath. A velvet touch chased away pain, stirred the forgotten and chased even the cruelty away. Hawke’s touch never did that. Magic was never this… beautiful.

Magic… in him…

Fenris sat up with a startled gasp. The bath was starting to cool. He must have fallen asleep in it. How strange. No wonder his chest ached and he felt like he swallowed water. He climbed from the tub, bare feet landing on heated marble. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was. His mansion never had a marble bathing room. Those were only in Tevinter. He stiffened. Had Tevinter slavers plucked him from the sea?

He sank into his usual wary stance, brands illuminating. He tried to sidestep into the Fade… and couldn’t. His shoulders sagged and the blue light died away. So this is how it would be. Trapped once again. Where was Anders? Did they kill him?

“Wake up… Don’t leave me…”

The voice seemed almost inside his head and yet so very far away. Fenris dressed in his black leggings and dark green vest before prowling out into the hallway. His vision kept blurb at the edges of awareness. Maybe he had been drugged in order to get him this far. So where was everyone? Where were the slaves? The magisters? Who caught him?

A slave human stepped out from a room. Startled, he dropped his mage staff and sank to his knees, supplicating till his face touched the floor. “I am sorry master, I did not see you had woken. Do you need anything?”

Fenris looked over one shoulder then the other before he realized the young mage had spoken to him. Then it hit him. ( _I am in the Fade!)_ He scowled, “Be gone demon. Even in my dreams there are no slaves, not even of the mage variety.”

The weak demon spirit evaporated.

Fenris huffed out a breath. ( _Great, stuck in the Fade.)_ Last time he was here proved very bad. Anders had warned him to not give into any demons, to just say NO. And what had he done? Just the opposite. Now he searched for a way out, unable to just will himself out. There had to be some door that would free him to reality.

He found a locked door. Familiar voices echoed in muffles behind it. ( _AHA!)_ He shoved, he kicked, and even threw his body against it. “Open! Vanhedis! OPEN!”

After raging at it for several minutes, it finally gave way. He stumbled awake onto Athenril’s ship. Hawke was yelling commands to Varric and Isabella. Athenril directed her sailors. Fenris’ head throbbed. He must have fallen and hit it as the ship rocked hard in the rough waters. At last! Back where he needed to be. Hawke was here and several others.

“Fenris! I thought you wouldn’t wake!” Hawke stepped up beside him. “It was hell getting you back from that damned blighted magister.”

“But how?” Fenris seemed, no not seemed, definitely was confused.

“I had arrived at the port to meet with Athenril. Isabella’s ship was badly damaged fighting to get you back.” Hawke reached into Fenris’ hair. “That lump is pretty bad. You feel ok? Need to lie down? I think we can handle the run from here. Just go get some sleep.”

Fenris nodded as he turned to head down to the small room he had used… with Anders. ( _ANDERS_!) “Hawke? Where’s Anders? Were you able to free him? I need to speak to him.”

Hawke gave his usual crooked grin. “You need rest, my friend. I’ll be down with you once we are safe.” The grin faded. “About Anders, I tried. I really did. When the magisters took you, he called upon Justice to fight them. He gave in too far.”

Fenris’ eyes grew wide, his mouth hung open a moment. “No… oh no…”

“We lost him.” Hawke looked away, devastated. “Go on to bed. I’ll see you soon.”

Fenris looked out at the rough sea and the retreating smuggler islands. A hollow ache twisted in his chest. How long was he out? How much did he miss? He never got to tell Anders anything. There was so much to say. He grimaced and rubbed his chest. All their efforts. All Hawke tried to do. The hunt in Tevinter. All the watching and caring Fenris did. And they all failed Anders in the end. And why? How? Because Anders valued Fenris’ life more than his own soul.

“No… NOOO!” The scream ripped from Fenris with more fury and anguish than he had ever felt for anyone. He dug his fingers into his hair not believing. “No… He was… right there…” The memory flickers in his mind. Anders had been right there, watching a magister suffocate. Then in the fall to the sea, Anders was there again, way above him reaching for him. Then again in the water, in the icy dark water. He had jumped a hundred feet in to save him. To breathe life back into him.

“P-please wake up, Fenris.” He could almost hear Anders’ soft emotion-filled words in his ear.

Hawke stepped closer. “I am sorry. I know you tried to keep your promise. But you need to lie down and rest, Fenris. That bump on your head will only make things disorienting.” Hawke pressed a small kiss to Fenris’ brow.

Why did Hawke kiss him?

_(I am still in the Fade.)_

He shoved Hawke back lips curling dangerously, “No! You are NOT Hawke.”

The sloth demon reformed from Hawke’s body, “But you are so tired and your ordeal so difficult. Rest will help you heal, help you forget the pain.”

“Just say no, that is what Anders told me. I will not give in again. So… NO!” yelled Fenris. He had, however, no weapons to fight the demon.

“P-please wake up, Fenris.”

Fenris roared, flaring his brands as bright as he could. If he can use them to step partly into the fade, then maybe he can use them to step out of it.

The ship shattered and water rushed over it, sweeping crew and friends into its depths. “Anders!” he called out. “ANDERS!” The ship tossed him into its depths to swallow him. Frantically he thrashed and came up for air gasping, brands shining brilliantly.

He was still screaming for Anders when the warmth of the very man he called for had registered. Anders held him down. Fenris clung suddenly to him as if the water would steal him under again. His chest heaved in fast deep breaths till he managed to calm. The small ship cabin faded into darkness. It was a safe darkness, Anders was there. Alive. His healing magic familiar over Fenris’ body. The scent of elfroot on the mage’s hands and clothes. The annoying yet wonderful near sobs into his shoulder. The itch of the rough spun blankets of the cramped bed. This was real. This… this uncomfortable place was real and he loved ever vile bit of it.

He turned his head to see those dark sun through honey eyes staring with so much worry into his own. “I heard you, mage… I heard you calling me. You… you saved my life.” He buried his face into Anders’s chest, needed to be held, anchored to life and the waking world.

Those eyes crinkled in the corners as Anders smiled. “I’d do it again.”

Something felt different though. “Anders? Am I naked?”

“Uh… yes…”

Fenris groaned, but did not move and did not tell Anders to move. He still held onto the mage, soaking up the warmth of him, soaking in the strong heart beat and damp cheeks. He thought about how this felt, being touched by Anders with and without the magic. It wasn’t like Danarius. There was no sense of control, no pain. There was no overwhelming rush of sensation or memories either. There was just… Anders. And some residual healing magic, but that too was Anders.

Fenris swallowed. For a moment he thought about tasting those lips again. They were so close. But Anders didn’t want that, not again, not unless Fenris really really meant it. “Are you going to hold me any longer?”

Anders blushed and started to pull away, mumbling an apology. Fenris gripped tighter to prevent him. In those honey amber eyes shook with a question.

“Stay. I don’t want to be alone right now. The sea might take me again if you are not here.”

Anders relaxed back down beside Fenris, arms enfolding protectively around him.


	26. Revelations of Trust

It wasn’t till he really thought he was going to lose Fenris did he truly realize how much he needed him, emotionally. How much he wanted him. He needed someone he could count on, even if that someone didn’t much like him. Fenris was always there for him.

Fenris too was adapting to the knowledge that he reluctantly had to admit that he needed Anders. And this… wasn’t so bad. Maybe when Hawke finds a way to get rid of the spirit in Anders, Fenris might… maybe… possibly… entertain the notion of… no. Best not to think about it. It might inspire feelings of hope and those feelings have too often been destroyed. Yet, after his moment in the Fade where he was so sure it was real and Hawke had stated they lost Anders, Fenris was never going to ignore a moment where he thought about saying something to Anders and then deciding not to. If Anders could trust him with his life through the journals, then Fenris would offer equal trust and answer anything Anders asked. Maybe even ask a few questions of his own. They could learn to converse together without resorting to throwing insults and beating each other with wooden plates, couldn’t they?

Fenris stayed so still, buried like a small child in Anders arms. He felt cold still but with Anders it was like being hugged by a furnace. He wondered briefly if there was magic involved, but if there was then his brands would be tingling. Anders was naturally giving off this much body heat. No wonder he kicked off the blankets all the time. There was something deeply comforting, incredibly safe feeling to be held, not doing the holding, but to know someone can be there for him when he needed it. He had been so alone and so lonely. He let out a slow breath and listened to Anders, who was drifting off to sleep.

Only then, as he grew comfortable with his nudity did he realize that Anders had a blanket between them and that Anders was not nude. The levels of respect that Anders gave him drove reality home about the soul of the apostate. He may be possessed, but there were aspects of Anders that were true to the core.

Then Anders snuggled closer.

Fenris stiffened, snarled, rolled over, then back. He covered Anders face with a hand and shoved Anders from the bed.

Anders let out a startled yell as he hit the floor.

Fenris grumbled something in Tevinter as he rubbed his shoulder where Anders’ stubble has scraped his skin.

Anders sat up, “Well that was short lived.”

Fenris scowled down at him.

Anders reminded him, “You might want to be clothed before you chase me in your anger. You know, there are medical books that talk about anger management. I should…”

Fenris roared at him.

Ander simply smiled up. “You have no idea how glad I am do know you are alive and all here. Roar at me all you like.”

Fenris felt very suddenly disarmed. “Please get me my clothes. And… maybe something to eat.”

Anders stood and placed a pile of clothing from the top of the trunk to the bed. He returned with a plate of food to share, nothing special, but it was shared. “May I use magic and check you out more thoroughly?” At Fenris’ nod, Anders carefully reaches and touched Fenris. His magic glowed blue-green and seeped around the lyrium brands.

In the quiet, Anders grinned. “Fenris? Do you remember when we played that Alphabet game, back when I was teaching you to read?”

Fenris groaned. Yes, of course he remembered.

“Let’s play it again and the words have to be minimum five letters.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but found he could not deny the mage this time. “Fine. But I start this time. A… A is for apothecary.” And he spelled the word, earning a smile from Anders.

“B,” Anders had to think. Fenris kickstarted with such a good word. “B is for… Bethany.”

“People’s names don’t count,” insisted Fenris.

“Hm… B… B is for… breakfast.”

Fenris thought, “C… is for canine.” He gave Anders a feral grin showing a bit of fang.

Anders chuckled. They played this game weekly during the reading lessons. “D is for damiana.”

“What the Void is damiana?”

“An herb,” explained Anders. “Mildly hallucinogenic if smoked and mildly an aphrodisiac if you drink a tea of it.”

Fenris shook his head. Only Anders… Well, no. Isabela and Varric would both have totally enjoyed that one. Hawke too, except Hawke would have gone out to test both aspects.

They played this while Anders scanned through Fenris to be sure he was fine after the bit of drowning and to double check all broken bones were healing properly.

Fenris struggled, “U… U… hmmm… U…. U is for unpeaval!” he cheered.

That left Anders with V. “V is for vanhedis. Inappropriate language for children.” He knew alternate languages didn’t count either. He sighed. “V… V is for victory.”

“W is for Warden.”

Anders scowled. “That’s too easy, but I suppose it counts. Shit. You saddled me with X!” Fenris grinned again at him like he had just won the hand in wicked grace. “X is for… Xanthodontous. X-a-n-t-h-o-d-o-n-t-o-u-s. It means having yellow teeth. Like so many of the people in Darktown who really needed to learn to brush them.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Fenris? I sense something in you with my magic, something kind of… foreign. May I go a bit deeper and see? Maybe it is one of those locks.”

Fenris tensed. This is exactly what Hawke had said Anders might find, might be able to undo. He nodded slowly and nervously.

Anders took a deep breath and slowly sank his magic deeper into Fenris. The lyrium brands lit the room! A flash of pain race over Fenris’ body. His hand thrust out without his control into Anders’ chest. Ander instantly stopped his magic exploration and gripped the wrist of the hand buried in his chest. Terror filled Fenris’ eyes for a moment till he got hold of himself and carefully removed his hand. Anders dropped coughing and gasping.

“I’m sorry. Anders… I’m sorry.”

The mage raised a hand to reassure Fenris he was ok and that it was alright. Fenris did NOT think it was alright. “Well, now we know, those magic locks… they come with magical traps.” Anders sat back on the edge of the bed rubbing his chest. “So… that's what that feels like. I didn’t like it at all. Is that how to control… Justice?”

“When he threatens to be the demon of Vengeance. Or when he does not want to lett go of you. Yes.” He was afraid to let Anders any closer to him. They both sat on the bed as far from each other as they could. “We are not doing that again.”

“I beg to differ. That is exactly how they controlled you. We will do this again. Not now… later. I will need to do research. But we will do this again. I will just be… better prepared, now that I know the locks are trapped. And really. It is a magical lock, not unlike any other. I’ve put such locks on my stuff in Darktown. These ones just have a complex arrangement with a variety of contingencies and interlacing neurospectral links…” It was then he realized he drifted into mage speak and lost Fenris. “I think I can free you Fenris. But I need time and some books I don’t have here… and… a whole lot of your trust.”

“That is twice I have been controlled by someone, something, else in less than a day.” He shook his head. “Ask me some other time. I am not ready to think about this.” He was downright freaked out. After a long several moments of trying to achieve calm, he asked, “Can you? Do you really think you can free me? Hawke thought you could… but not all bound up with Justice.”

There Anders looked down at his hands. “I think there is a good possibility. But… Justice will be a huge problem. What I would need to do this… is found inside some of the Circle of Magi.”

Fenris needed to pace off his anxiety. Anders curled up on the bed and watched him, or did until sleep took over while Fenris still paced the tiny ship cabin.

It had totally unnerved Fenris that he almost killed Anders, triggered like a snap-trap. When he finally did relax, it dawned on him that Anders healing magic and Anders physical touch… didn’t bother him one bit. It didn’t trigger anything else. All he had to do was accept and trust and it was alright. This was a huge revelation for Fenris, until he thought about reciprocating. Then the elation fell off the cliff into icy water and drowned. For all of Anders hands-on touchy-feely attitude, if you genuinely tried to touch him, to get past a certain layer to reach skin and soul, that is where it ended.

Trust.

That was the bottom line. How was he going to really be able to trust Anders? And moreover, how was he going to get Anders to really trust him?

Hawke had once said it, " _With trust comes freedom, and choice, and respect, and love."_


	27. Simple Things

Later, Anders headed back into the black market while Fenris slept. He was halfway up those blighted stairs before he remember he could have taken a lift. He felt so stupid. Too late now. He sat at the top again for a long long while. Pain throbbed with his heartbeat in his knee. He intended to collect their pack from the inn and maybe, do a tiny bit of shopping. It was a blessing when he spotted the siblings from yesterday and decided to save his aching knee and shorten his time. He called them over and promised them a silver each if they brought his pack to him from the inn. Maybe even a gold sovereign each if everything were intact.

To his relief, and sadness, he gave them a gold piece each. Money well spent. All his belongings were there, including the little purchase Fenris convinced him to make yesterday, powdered unicorn horn. That will enhance any healing magic or potion. Today, he intended to get some of that ivory and maybe a new journal to write in. Oh… and he felt bad for maybe damaging the wooden stick from the bow maker, so he planned to see him and pay for that too. First he oversaw a good meal for himself and his two young companions. He made sure to have extra packaged up that he could bring back to Fenris. Mmmm… and he found a seller of that sweet apple brandy. He bought four bottles of that.

The bow maker looked at Anders with huge eyes. “You are… alive?” he breathed out in Dalish.

Anders smiled and replied back in Dalish to the bow maker’s surprise, “And so is my friend. Thank you for the use of the wood. I am sorry if I damaged it at all. I came to compensate you for it.”

“Oh no! No no… I have never seen anyone do what you did for the life of an elf. Consider this a gift.” The bow maker handed Anders the very stick that was used against the magister. But now it had been worked. There was a simple metal cap on the bottom, two sections where leather was wrapped, where Anders hands had held it like a quarter staff, some delicate elven engraving that almost looked like Fenris’ brands had been inlaid with silver. The top was left untouched. “My brother cuts gems on the row at the end of this one. You may select one of your choice and he will inset it on the top of the staff. It isn’t very fancy or anything and has little in the way of magic… But a gift… our thanks. For the sake of elves and slaves…”

“You honor me.” Anders had never been gifted like this, not by a stranger. “It doesn’t have to have magic. No staff does. That is a mage secret. It just has to… feel right. And this one… does. Thank you so much. What wood is it?”

“Chestnut. I hear it is good for love and fire. It makes for excellent bows with fire enchantments.”

Anders headed to the gem cutter and selected several stones, staring at them all for so long his knee started to ache again. He settled on a smooth piece of green fluorite because the properties of fluorite are to amplify magic. He dug through his pack and sprinkled some of the unicorn horn powder, into the hole in the top of the staff before the elven gem merchant fixed in the fluorite. The stone was secured with some silver he melted using fire magic of his own and then wrapped some doeskin around it to keep it more secure. Of all the staffs Anders had ever held or used, this one he liked most of all. The unicorn horn would enchant it for healing and protection, excellent for healing magic and defensive spells, strengthened by the fluorite and the chestnut. No, not necessarily powerful, not enchanted in any way, but… it just felt right and felt a little like Fenris with the greens and silver against the amber-colored wood. No staff had ever felt more like his than this one, maybe because he actually had a hand in making it and it had already been part of saving a life that was very important to him.

By the end of the day, his knee ached so badly that he took the lift down to the docks. He limped onto Athenril’s ship and down to find Fenris.

“I thought you were not buying a staff.” Fenris eyed the new staff in Anders hand.

Anders shrugged shyly. “Some vendors gave it to me as a gift. Two elven brothers. One was the bow maker. Maybe you did not see. When that magister had you frozen in place, I fought him with a staff. I had grabbed it from the one of the not yet shaped sticks by the bow maker. This very one in fact. He made it with some help from the mage staff merchant and then sent me to his brother for a gem to put in it. It was so strange! Like no one EVER bothers to help elves or something.”

“They don’t.”

“Well… I do!” Anders handed the staff over to Fenris for inspection. “It is very simple. But that’s ok. I like that. I picked the stone and even added some of the unicorn powder…” He shrugged shyly again.

Fenris wrapped it in one of their travel blankets and carefully placed it in the hidden drawer under the bed with Blade of Mercy. Anders had never seemed to care about something like that before. Fenris wondered if Anders had ever made anything before for himself or owned anything he considered his own beyond the little pillow from his mother. Then he frowned critically at Anders, “You are limping.”

“I forgot to wrap my knee.” Anders sat upon the bed now that the staff was packed away. “Oh here, I brought you something you can eat.” He handed Fenris the roasted beast, wrapped with cheese and mushroom and stuffed into a long bun that felt still a bit warm.

Fenris plopped right onto the floor and devoured it like he was tasting food from the table of the Maker.

Anders smiled, “You are most welcome, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Fenris spoke softly once he swallowed his mouthful. “You said you had some salve you rub into your knee when it hurts you bad and magic fails to ease it.”

Anders nodded and retrieved it from one of the pack.

When Fenris was finished eating, he took the wooden jar from Anders and scooted closer so he sat at Anders feet. “I will do it. I owe you my life; I can at least help with this.”

“You owe me nothing. We have saved each other’s lives more times than I can count.” He chuckled though. “But I won’t say no to having someone else massage me!” Anders started to remove his boot to have his hands swatted off by Fenris. He raised a brow and gave in, leaning back on his hands on the bed.

Fenris undid the lacings and straps and buckles of both boots, removing them with practiced ease. He’d done it often enough when Anders was in no fit state to do so himself. For a moment he hesitated, feeling like this was going to be far more intimate than he expected or intended. He shoved the strange emotions aside and pushed the loose fabric of Anders legging up above the knee. Anders lifted his stockinged foot and rested it on Fenris’ thigh. There was another pause. Anders never pushed, just let Fenris decide what to do and how, watching with gentle curiosity. Fenris flicked a glance at Anders face then back to the jar. He opened the jar and took out a generous glop of the loose gooey salve. He started to massage it into the knee and behind it, around the knee cap and into the tough tendons.

Anders grunted now and then from the pain. Finally, he sighed a sigh that Fenris could tell was one of total relief. The salve had caused first an icy cooling sensation that seeped to the bone and reduced the swelling. After ten minutes, it started to warm and relax the muscles and tendons, and then numb the nerves. “I might beg you to do this… often.”

Fenris shrugged one shoulder, “Whenever you need it.”

Anders leaned forward, almost over Fenris, “Really? I think I love you!” and he kissed the top of Fenris’ head.

Fenris blinked widely and fumbled the jar of salve, hands scrambling to catch it and cap it again. His ears turned pink and deepened into a warm red. Anders had kissed him. Anders had said he loved him. While logic told him this was only part of the light-hearted gestures that did not mean truly what they could, somewhere he wondered if there was deeper meaning and wondered if he wanted there to be.


	28. Apostate

The evening seemed bizarre to Fenris after and he was grateful for when Anders decided he was going to get some sleep, or try to as the crew of the ship had started to filter back aboard. Fenris headed up to the deck to assist with the moving of crates and supplies that had been exchanged and purchased at Traiders Bay. The warrior needed to stretch the newly healed muscles and bones.

Anders sat on the bed just pondering what transpired. The massage, the free offer of it whenever he wanted or needed it, that he kissed Fenris on the top of the head and told him he loved him. Playfully of course! Not that it meant anything, really. ( _Really? By the fire blasted and blighted Deep Roads and the Void too!!)_ Anders sighed. Each week had brought him closer to feeling stable, even though there was the constant whisper in his mind of what he should and should not be doing from Justice, or sometimes Vengeance. That mixed with the whispers and dreams of the darkspawn for a spectacularly confusing and dark mess inside Anders mind and heart. But this evening, this little moment, caused the strangest fluttering inside his stomach. Last time he felt that was over the years he wanted to confess his feelings to Hawke. This time, it was Fenris.

Fenris. Anders had to really absorb the reality of this. Fenris, the Tevinter elf, the slave infused with lyrium to be a deadly and vicious killer, the man who had seemed to hate him for six or more years just because he was an apostate. But that was not exactly true. Fenris hated magisters and was terrified that Anders would become one. And over the last few months, Fenris had been sometimes difficult, but how much of that was Anders’ doing? Fenris dragged him out from starving himself to death, which he had almost managed to do. Fenris stirred his morals to heal those who need it. Fenris risked dying of the plague to stay with him and help him in the clinic. Fenris saved his life when he burned himself out and learned what mage shock was. Fenris… took care of him like no one ever had, ever in all the time Anders could remember.

As Anders evaluated his growth and understanding of this elf, of their interactions and each their personal beliefs, he had to acknowledge that friendship had grown between them. It bonded them together, even if it was because Hawke bade Fenris to watch over him. Fenris had started to reach out, learn, share, even touch. By Andraste’s smalls, Fenris had kissed Anders only a few days ago, and allowed Anders to snuggle against him on the deck. Anders wished he had not been so mad about that kiss. It just scared him. The feelings inside him scared him. Then the anger blasted through him and he wasn’t sure if it was his own or the spirit inside. He licked his lips that still had the tiny sensation of the thick straight strands of white hair when he kissed the top of Fenris’ head. That flutter returned to his belly and a smile started to cramp his cheeks. His fingers drew absent circles over his knee where Fenris had rubbed in the salve. He bit his lip and threw himself into the bed and groaned aloud. “No….. no….. What is wrong with me? He hates apostates… but he had said… didn’t he say that he might actually like the Anders I try to be, the one I used to be, remember being before I gave into you?” He was alone. It was acceptable to talk to himself. Wasn’t it? This was something he did often since he always felt alone. And actually, he wasn’t alone and talking to himself. That was crazy. He was talking to the spirit inside him, talking to Justice. But Justice did not approve of this relationship. Justice liked it far far less than the relationship with Hawke. “Well, I like him!” Anders declared to the disapproving voice inside him. “Let me have at least one thing! Especially since you ruined everything with Hawke!”

Anders wanted to have some contact, something more than the ethereal connection he had with Justice. He liked the challenge Fenris presented and found he even enjoyed that Fenris disagreed with him often and treated him with complete and sometimes brutal honesty. Fenris held very high standards, unlike Hawke who simply accepted you as is, and Anders found that he wanted to meet those high standards. He wanted to be what Fenris would expect from a mage if he respected a mage, strong and sure, never to give in to blood magic or demons, to only use magic to serve and aid and heal.

Anders wriggled under the bed sheet. He fell asleep thinking of all the little things, because they seem so much more important right now, all those little things Fenris had done over the last few months and how much he had grown fond of them.

Hours later as all the crew were finally aboard and all the crates were stowed away, Fenris returned to the little cabin he shared with Anders. He expected Anders to be asleep and was not disappointed. He sat on the edge of the bed and simply watched the apostate. After the kiss and declaration, however false and joking, Fenris needed to simply do something else. However, neither words nor deed left his mind. He knew Anders well enough by now to know that a joke was always the truth pretending to be a false jest. He just wasn’t wholly ready for it. Maybe he should have been. He started it after all. What a fool he was. Then again, maybe this would push Anders to fight for control all the harder. He had been honest about the fact that he really liked this Anders, now that he had set aside his bias. He still did not like mages, but now he could differentiate between them. Anders was admirable for an apostate. Selfless, compassionate, sensitive. And yet when necessary, as fiercely protective as Fenris could be. He had never thought he could let his guard down and just be, allow himself to be the one being protected. Anders was admirable in that too.

As per usual, Anders tossed here and there, rolled, and kicked the blankets from his feet. Fenris debated pulling the blankets over Anders yet again and then decided instead to remove all but the thick sheet. Now that he had felt the furnace-like heat that radiated off the mage when Anders had held him, he understood easily why the blankets so oft became discarded in a pile at the end of the bed. He stroked through Anders’ hair and stole the tie from it, tying it with the first around his wrist… for safe keeping! He stretched his fingers and let Anders’ hair slide through them. Feather-soft. He wanted to lean down and smell his hair. Fenris shook his head at how absolutely ridiculous that would be.

For the first time, his soothing touches did not ease the night terror Anders’ started to suffer. Anders whimpered and scowled. He rolled over again and struggled with something unseen. He thought maybe Justice was taking over again. Fenris untangled the sheet no less than three times over his watch as his concern intensified. His soothing touches always helped before. This time they seemed to make the situation worse. Finally he decided to just wake the mage. He shook Anders gently. It did not wake him. He shook him harder. That too did not wake him, but instead, Anders started to yell unintelligibly, or maybe in a language that was of the spirit or of Anders’ childhood. Either way, Fenris could not wake Anders.

Now Fenris really worried. A sleeper trapped in the fade, especially a mage was at risk of being possessed by demons. While Fenris logically understood that Anders was already possessed, maybe he was trapped in the Fade at war with the spirit that possessed him. Didn’t he recently tell Fenris that he was so entangled with the spirit that he no longer knew where he ended and it began? Feynriel was in such a situation and special rites had to be performed to send people into the Fade and help get him out. That was impossible here on the ship. Impossible. He didn’t know what to do.

The yelling and struggling brought Athenril down and knocking, hoping they were not killing each other on her ship. She opened the door to a pleading desperate look on the elf’s face. He explained as curtly as possible to her, leaving out the possessed parts. She left swiftly, yelling something to someone about a bath basin and water, then returned to Fenris. “Can you carry him?” At Fenris’ nod she instructed that he bring Anders to the larger room down the hall.

Fenris tugged the struggling Anders to hear Anders blithering in Arcanum. Now Fenris understood and wished he had not. Anders fought with Justice for the right to like, to feel, to be with Fenris. Fought for the rights to be on his own sometimes like before… and was losing the battle. Fenris was losing Anders… to the spirit. With a snarl, Fenris called for assistance and dragged Anders out. Two men came over and each lifted under Anders’ arms while Fenris took his feet and they manhandled the fighting mage into the room where a huge basin was being filled with water.

“By the Dread Wolf!” declared one of the two men who saw something under the edge of Ander’s rising shirt.

“You have NO RIGHT TO LOOK!” roared Fenris possessively. He had to quickly catch Anders around the chest as he forced the other men away. A look that announced to them all ‘ _MINE! DO NOT TOUCH!’_ made them all back up a step.

Athenril called Fenris’ attention, “Stand him up back to the basin and push him in.”

“What?!”

“The sense of falling and the rush of water to drown you will yank you from the Fade. I’ve had to do this a couple times for mages in my employ,” she explained.

Fenris looked skeptical, but even with all the moving, carrying, yelling and shaking, Anders still had not roused. He had expected the mage to wake glowing and rumbling with Justice in control to be chased back by Fenris’ hand. Fenris refused to let the spirit have Anders. He shuffled his feet till he held Anders to his chest and could see the basin over Anders’ shoulder. Then he pushed.

Anders fell with as little self-control as Fenris had when he was pushed off the cliff. The sense of falling already stirred him as Fenris witnessed muscles tensing and bracing for an unknown impact. The water splashed all over the floor as the mage landed into it with a yell and flail. A hand grasped the basin’s rim and he pulled himself to the surface gasping and choking, magic coiling around his fingers and arms.

“Out!” hollered Fenris. Everyone bolted from the room to let Fenris calm Anders. Fenris grabbed Anders and pulled the soaking mage from the tub. Aggressive magic stabbed and tugged at his brands and made them flare. He gritted his teeth. Then he saw the flickering light and knew it was not him but Justice. The struggling voice was overlaid with the spirit. Anders but not Anders. Fenris restrained him, held him tightly to him to be sure Anders did not cast anything that might sink the ship.

“Mage. Anders… calm yourself. You were stuck in the Fade. I had to do something. But you are safe. No danger is here.” Fenris gritted his teeth again against the pain and then banished it.

A slur of strange words mixed of their voices and of Arcanum with that foreign language growled and ground out through clenched teeth. Anders still fought for control. Only now the fight was here and not in the Fade.

Fenris flexed a fist as he debated phasing it and grabbing Anders’ heart to force the spirit back. But Anders was here too. Sometimes there would be a pleading word or an angry one that was all Anders. “You can fight this, Anders. He shares your body. It is YOURS not his! Anders…. Hold onto me if you need to.” Anders did. Grabbed hold of Fenris, letting out a keening cry that ended in a yell. “You fought for me against a magister. Fight again now for me. Shon. I know you are a strong mage.”

One more rough yell and he sank into the elven warrior. “Fenris,” trembled out a bare whisper from Anders, in his own voice. “I will... always… fight for you.” Fenris offered a fanged grin. Anders rested his head on the elf’s shoulder a moment before he lost consciousness out of exhaustion.

Fenris carried him back to their room. “Forgive me. I know you never wanted me to see you naked, but you give me little choice at the moment.” He stripped off the wet clothing from the mage. “Vanhedis!” He saw what Athenril’s elven man saw. He moistened his lips and stared in disbelief. Swallowed for his throat went dry. His fingers hovered over the scars. A… P… O… S… The letters started at Anders’ navel. Fenris tugged Anders’ left shoulder and turned him over. T… A… T… E… followed by a symbol he did not know. Once Anders was turned over, he saw again the very word Anders hated so badly scarring across his upper back. It too was followed by a symbol. This one Fenris recognized from a note taken from a Templar, a proposal for a ‘Tranquil Solution’ by Alrik. Alrik’s personal sigil. Anders hated the word _apostate_ as much as Fenris hates the word _slave_. “I will never call you this again…” He winced with shame, and then redressed Anders in a fresh layer of dry clothing.

Anders flinched. His eyes flew open. “No… no don’t look! I’m hideous… a monster…”

“Then I am as well.” Fenris tugged the shirt down over Anders’ stomach and then the sheet up over his shoulders. “Our brands are testament to our strength to survive and fight for our freedoms.”


	29. Hard Talks

The next few days, as the small ship sailed out from Traiders Bay and Smugglers Cove, out onto the Waking Sea, were quiet for the two travelers. They had made discoveries about themselves and each other that they each needed time to digest and accept. Not that they tiptoed around one another. Not exactly. But there were so many things they wanted to say, wanted to ask, wanted to share. And they had no idea how to do so. It was as if those two moments of trauma and water washed away much of the hate between them and left them with too little to hold onto to know where they stood in their relationship beyond needing each other and not willing to let the other go.

They exchanged awkward long looks full of concern and uncertainty. Athenril wanted to just yell at them to fuck and get it over with. However, they could not bring themselves to make the slightest of physical contacts.

Finally on the third day, Anders could not stand it a moment longer. He hugged Fenris. Fenris reacted as only Fenris could, like a cat that hates to be touched that had just been picked up and snuggled by a loving child. Anders released the disgruntled elven warrior with a long sigh of relief and a content smile on his face.

“Festa Vass! What is wrong with you?!” Fenris snarled.

Anders draped his coat over the trunk and removed his boots. “Nothing now. I was missing your grumpy broodiness and now I see it is not lost.” He grinned a toothy grin and flopped onto the bed to remove the supportive leather and bandaging around his knee. He could not stop grinning, his cheeks started to hurt. Fenris behaved just like a cat whose fur got rubbed backwards. He didn’t laugh; he knew Fenris would hate that.

“You are… holleftan,” remarked Fenris.

“I am what?” When Fenris grinned this time Anders knew he fell for it. “You made that up!”

“Move over. You are taking up the whole bed.” Fenris shoved Anders legs so he could sit and hoisted the pack with the journals into his lap to seek out the next one to read.

Anders shuffled back on the bed and took up the new empty one he bought to start writing in it. “How are your feet today? I saw you climbing the rigging again. Want me to treat them?”

Fenris turned on the bed, nose deep in Anders journal already and dropped his feet into Anders’ lap. Anders raised his eyebrows, but dared not comment about this change in Fenris. He tugged the pack over and rooted in it for his healing supplies. His new journal could wait. This moment of trust could not. He removed splinters, and rubbed in salve with the gentlest of healing magic.

Fenris frowned suddenly when he came across the pages he had seen some time ago when Anders had tried to slit his wrist. The ones Varric had read out loud for him. This time he read the words for himself. He ground his teeth, closed the book and struck Anders with it.

“What! What did I do?! Did I touch too much? Did I use too much magic? I was trying to be careful? I thought you...”

Fenris glared angrily. “Don’t you EVER try to take your life ever again!”

Anders dropped his eyes for he had often considered it over the past months. It was always a thought in the back of his mind, but the spirit in him had too strong a hold now and would never allow him the moment to try. And yet seeing Fenris trapped in the clutches of that magister, knowing he might be able to free Fenris from those bonds, watching him fall a hundred feet into water. He raised his eyes again to meet an unflinching, challenging stare. “Never. I promise you. I will never again try.” He wanted to say more, to say he would rather die than repeat the horror of Kirwall’s Chantry, but the spirit prevented such words.

That seemed to satisfy the elf who returned to reading. At least until he frowned again just as Anders was about to rub his feet again. “You… skipped a fair amount.”

Anders huffed, “You know, you not reading out loud does not help me know what you are talking about. I didn’t write every single day. And sometimes there wasn’t anything to say and sometimes there wasn’t anything I wanted to say, and sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?”

Anders looked away. “Sometimes I didn’t dare say or could not say, not even write.”

“Then maybe we should practice so it gets easier. So you remember.” It had been something Hawke had suggested to Fenris when Fenris had trouble dealing with the loss of his memories and the sense of being overwhelmed or unable to communicate what was inside him.

Anders gnaws upon his lower lip.

“Let us talk about… Hawke.” It was the most difficult subject for Fenris to broach so he figured starting with that would be good, for them both. “I loved Hawke. I… still do. But not the same way as I did.”

Anders’ jaw dropped. Did he hear right? Did the elf actually use the L word? “Fenris? Did you and Hawke really have a relationship at all? Isabella said you two fucked. I mean, I already knew you loved him, but I didn’t really think you and he ever…”

“Yes. Once” Fenris closed his eyes remembering that night. “I had loved how he treated me. The first person who openly spoke his mind and interests. The only person who thought I was worth looking at because they had feelings for me and liked what they saw inside and out. I wanted to know him. I hungered for him. And when he touched me and when we kissed, it was like being consumed by fire.”

Anders watched and listened. There was so much hurt and desire in every unconscious expression and in the strain of Fenris’ voice. Fenris echoed his very own feelings for Hawke.

“Yes, we… as you so eloquently put it… fucked. It was the first time I ever had. And the last.” Fenris took in a deep breath. He had promised to voice all and show trust so as to be trusted. “But every touch… It was both bliss and agony. It stirred memories and sensations both. I held onto both as long as I could and when there was release… it was all gone, even the memories. It was too much to handle. Too many sensations I could not absorb or understand. Too much pain. Too many memories. And then to lose them right after. I could not cope. I dared not go through that over and over. I was afraid.”

Slowly Anders rested his hands on Fenris’ feet again and gently massaged them. “Does this to the same thing?”

Fenris shook his head. “I do not know why.”

“Is that why you broke things off with Brayden?” Anders used Hawke’s first name because so few did and sometimes he liked to hear the word, even his own first name, but no one had ever called him Shon. Except Fenris.

Fenris nodded. “I didn’t want to, but I… felt like I … soiled something or ruined it.” The wrinkles rippled over the bridge of his nose. “I hated myself. But I swore to be by his side always. Hoped that maybe… one day… but he was a promiscuous bastard. Amazing and yet utterly without fidelity. I would never be enough for him.”

“Fenris? Were you jealous of me and Hawke?”

He clenched his jaw and thought how he wanted to answer that. “Yes at first. But you seemed more stable with him. He seemed less lonely. You knew how to comfort him where I did not. I know nothing of being gentle or compassionate.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Why did you betray him?” Fenris asked bluntly. So much for the tiptoeing and careful walking on egg shells. Perhaps he asked too bluntly. He regretted it. He saw the tiniest flicker of Justice before Anders reacted to his words.

Anders winced and cringed physically as if Fenris had punched him in the face and gut at the same time. He pulled away from Fenris and drew his knees up to his chest.

“I used to think you were selfish and single-minded. I thought all you cared about was your mage rights. I thought you were with Hawke to use him for the safety it provided so you could continue freeing mages.” Fenris re-opened the journal to a page full of scribbled nonsense like madness vomited upon the paper as if something tried to rub out all the words and yet something else prevented the page from simply being torn out. “You loved Hawke, did you not?”

“Y-yes.”

“But his promiscuity was like a painful betrayal to you already, one that cut deep. Yet you stayed with him. He was the only anchor you had to any sense of stability.” Fenris leaned in close, grabbing Anders jaw in his hand and forcing the mage to face him. “You care too deeply about people to let innocent lives suffer. So what happened? Tell me… something… anything…”

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“I will find a way to see you free of each other so you can.” Fenris released Anders jaw and took up the scarred left wrist. “You tried to warn us. You tried to stop it. Hawke betrayed your trust first. I was wrong to think you would hurt him. In the end, it was he who hurt you. And in so doing, you no longer had him to hold onto, to give you the strength to fight for your own freedom.”

“I loved him…”

“So did I.”

“I still love him.”

“So do I.”

“My betrayal was worse than his.” Anders reached down to close the book but Fenris prevented it.

“I see now, you did not betray him. You lost a fight and as such, many lives in its wake. I will not let you lose any more of those kinds of fights. The cost is too high.” Fenris meant the cost to be the lives of others, but he was no longer sure.

Anders stared into those moss green eyes not knowing what to say or do.

Fenris presses a hand on Anders’ chest. “I will trust you, Anders. I trust you to be strong and to be good and compassionate, to care when no one else will. That is who you are. That is who I trust. Will you trust me in turn?”

Anders swallowed hard, and then again as his voice failed. “Yes,” he spoke shakily in an emotion thick voice. He cleared his throat and spoke more firmly. “Yes.”

“Good. I have many questions to ask you. And… I promise to answer any of yours. This trust… it total. I do nothing in half measures.” He leaned to the side and grabbed one of the four bottles of apple brandy from the pack that he spied as Anders had dug out the healing supplies earlier. He fought out the cork and drank from the bottle. By the Maker he needed it. He drank long and deep. Then he offered it to Anders. They shared the bottle back and forth, though Fenris consumed the majority.

Fenris fell asleep drunken and slurring his words, head in Anders lap. He stretched an arm out. A gentle hand absently stroked his head and shoulder, trailed delicate traces of magic to soothe the rising twinges of the usual four-hour burn from the lyrium. He wondered how long he slept. It seemed long, longer than it should have been. The fuzzy haze in his mind reminded him he drank far too much, but the taste was so delicious and there had been a need to numb the sting of memories of Hawke. The wounds had been opened, bled of infection, and could now be washed and healed.

He rolled over still sorting out the feelings and thoughts till that hand stroked haltingly to hesitate and rest in half-stroke, the gentle magic dwindling in a soft sleepy murmur. Fenris inhaled and opened his eyes to see Anders had stayed sitting up while he was passed out drunk in his lap. For how long? Humiliation for his position burned from the tips of his pointed ears all down his neck.

Fenris’ movements stirred the mage. He stroked again with the delicate traces of magic to be startled by touching Fenris’ face and not his hair or shoulder. “Oh!” Anders lifted his hand not sure where now to put it down. Had Fenris felt like this at the inn? He bit his lower lip as full wakefulness came to him. “Uh… sorry… Uh… did you sleep-” He let out a small squeak, muscles jumping slightly as Fenris took his hovering left wrist.

Fenris held Anders gaze for several second. He did not sit up. He took the wrist in both hands and pushed the sleeve back to expose the shackle scarring around it and then the three long angled lines in the soft skin of the forearm. He held the wrist firm and trailed one finger along the inward angled one. Then frowned as he drew that finger along the outward angled ones. “You did not inflict those two. It would have been too awkward to cut.”

Uncomfortable, Anders pulled his arm free and yanked the sleeve down. “No, a Templar did it. Alrik. Trying to see if I would turn to blood magic or demons. He gave me the means to and pushed hard to see how long it would take for me to give in.”

Fenris wished the man were still alive so he could kill him again… and again and again. He sat up. “How long did I sleep?”

Anders shrugged awkwardly.

“What did you do for me to sleep longer than four hours?”

The corners of Anders mouth curled up slightly, “You are always trying to soothe my sleep. I thought I would try to soothe yours for a change. It was a tiny bit of healing to ease the pain mixed with the lightest bit of sleep magic. You were way drunk. You needed to sleep it off.” There were no words for how grateful he was for the change of subject from what the Templars had done to him. He had never told anyone, not even Hawke. All Hawke knew was that the Templars tortured him. Hawke had seen the scars all over his body, had touched them, but never questioned, pretended they were not there. It made sense to Anders why Fenris would not ignore them. There was no ignoring his own markings.

“Are we still going to talk about Hawke, now that you are done balming your wounded heart and soul with expensive alcohol?” Anders tried to keep things light despite the scowl he received for the comment. It had been on his mind all night. The raw feelings. The love and betrayal. The promise of trust and honesty. “I was hurt by Hawke, yes. But I knew what he was. I knew he would sleep around. He is a man who needs to touch and be touched. Monogamy does not become him well. I broke things with him, though, before I betrayed him.”

“I had thought so, but was not sure.”

Anders stretched out languidly and cat-like, back cracking as he arched and shifted this way and that to work out the cramps from sleeping the way he had. “I needed to think about it a lot. You are not a gentle conversationalist and lack any sort of social grace. You stomp through thoughts and feelings like an ogre in Orlais’ market.”

Fenris scrunched up his face and got off the bed.

“Hey! Don’t go. You would not be you if you were all smooth and sexy. You would be like… like…”

“Like who?” Fenris turned almost angry and very embarrassed if Anders was regarding him as sexy.

“Zevran.”

Fenris bristled at the very name.

“Sexy and abrasive suits you better.” It felt incredibly satisfying to see Fenris drop his guard at the open flattery. Anders stretched again.

“It astounds me sometimes how fast you can change subjects to avoid talking about the ones you don’t like.”

“Me?!” gasped Anders. “Look who is being evasive now!”

Fenris gritted his teeth. Why can’t they talk and not fight? Why couldn’t he manage that? “We were talking about Hawke.”

“What about Hawke?” Anders snipped and crossed his arms, pressed his lips together. “Hawke IS a promiscuous bastard. But he is also the most caring and foolishly devoted to his friends kind of man I know. I left him and so did you. We each had our reasons. Only you left him to protect yourself and I left him to protect him from me. In the end, you got to stay with him and he chased me away!”

Was that how Anders saw things? Fenris never realized it. He leaned back against the wall and waited for Anders to stop huffing in his almost childish anger. “You are right… and you are wrong. I did leave him to protect myself. And I know you left him to protect him from what you were becoming. And I know he cares. He still does.”

Anders sucked his teeth not believing that last bit.

“Mage, it is true. He did not chase you off. He… released you. You are the one who ran. We missed you while we fought the Templars to free the mages of the Circle. You are right to fight for the freedom of mages. Just as I am right to fight for the freedom of Tevinter slaves from magisters. It just took me a long time to realize that. We only took issue in your methods, not your reasons, and recognize that those methods may not have wholly been of your own free choosing.”

Anders fixed Fenris with a daring hard stare. “What if it were?”

“I would never believe you. I stood by and watched you heal innocent lives till it nearly killed you. I have seen you reach out with a hand and soothe agony from a dying man, tug a child from the edge of death… I have even seen you bring new life into this world with the skill some would say was divine. You value innocent lives far too much.” Fenris pushed off from the wall and sat back on the bed.

Anders plucked imaginary loose threads from the hem of his shirt. “And I thought you didn’t know how to flatter,” he mumbled.

“I don’t. I only know how to speak the truth of what I see. Sometimes mistakenly colored by my ignorance.”

Anders looked up at Fenris, though did not raise his chin from his chest.

Fenris cautiously put his hand over Anders, hoping he was doing the right thing. “I find it surprising that in all the time you were with Hawke, you never asked him about he and I.”

“You are very private, but some things are obvious. And, I didn’t want to know details. I wanted something that was just mine… but nothing ever really is or ever really will be.” Anders sighed.

Boots thundered down the stairs and people started yelling in the hall and on the decks above and below. Mage and warrior snapped their eyes to the door as someone pounded upon it. “Grab your gear, everything!” yelled the elf on the other side. “And get below! We have to hide you! We’re being boarded by an Orlesian Templar ship!”

Anders went white and forgot to breathe.


	30. Boarded by Templars

“Mage… MAGE!” snapped Fenris, “Grab my blade and your staff.”

Anders hurried off the bed to grab socks and boots.

“Forget dressing. There is no time.” Fenris shoved everything into the two packs, including their clothing, and shouldered them. “Grab Mercy and Simplicity and hurry up!”

Anders paused with a frown as he yanked open the drawer and lifted out both weapons awkwardly. “Simplicity?”

“Until you give it a better name.” He shoved Anders out the door and two elves came in to claim the room as if it were their own.

Anders and Fenris were swiftly directed down to the lower deck where the storage rooms and stacks of crates took residence. Athenril sharply whispered for a few barrels of lyrium to be moved to a hidden location that could be found if you looked hard. Then she barked an order to move these or those crates. Several elves pushed and pulled boxes to reveal a small nook with a half-sized barrel inside. “Get in there.” Fenris shoved the packs into a corner and made sure there was room to stand, albeit straddling the barrel of especially refined and expensive lyrium powder. He turned and grabbed blade and staff and shoved them into the other back corner. Anders was already starting to back pedal from the cramped space. “Vanhedis,” Fenris cursed under his breath. “We don’t have time for this.”

He stepped out, grabbed Anders and shoved him into the nook, forcing him to straddle the small barrel. He stepped inside, keeping Anders pinned to the wall, and gave Athenril a nod. This had always been the plan. He never told Anders because he knew the panic it would have caused. Anders and small enclosed spaces was never good. Athenril’s men shoved the tall stack of heavy crates to seal off the nook as if it too were crammed tight with boxed cargo.

“No! No! NOO!!!” Anders cried out repeatedly, reaching his hands around Fenris, “No no no…” The crates thudded into place against the flats of his hands and the nook plunged into darkness.

It was a risk to do this. Anders could turn to Justice and ruin everything. Or he could scream madly for hours causing them to be discovered. Thankfully neither of those happened… yet. Fenris stepped in closer, teeth clenched as he pressed against Anders. “Stop it,” he hissed. “You are fine. I am here. Sit down.” He shoved on Anders shoulders, forcing him to sit on the barrel. This allowed Fenris to straddle Anders’ knees and have a bit more room to breathe. He could hear Anders ragged terrified breaths, feel him shaking so hard the barrel practically rattled. It worsened with every passing moment.

He dug his fingers into Anders’ hair, remembering that day Anders fell into a dark dank cage underground and had to be carried out to the surface for a few days before they could return to exploring the old tunnels. Anders had been gibbering and terrified and inconsolable for almost three days. Fenris stiffened suddenly when Anders’ arms wrapped tightly around his waist, fingers clutching his waistband and back of his vest. To be this afraid… what had the Templars done to Anders? Fenris tried to soothe Anders as best he could while he pondered this. Anders had been taken at age twelve, attempted numerous escapes with a few relative successes, been shackled to the point of scarring his wrists and ankles, something burned around Anders neck, the word APOSTATE had been carved into his body twice by two different Templars. Spent a year in solitary... How old was he when he escaped to the Dalish? How long till he was taken by the Wardens? He could see now how Anders would consider being plagued by darkspawn a blessing compared to Templars. You knew darkspawn were going to try to kill and eat you. Templars were supposed to be just and godly and protect you.

The heavy thuds of full plate armored boots could be heard above them. “Anders,” whispered Fenris to the simpering mage, “You need to stay quiet. I will not leave you and I will not let them have you.” The search took hours and hours. The Templars were turning over every inch of the main deck, the second and third deck with the crew quarters, and were making their way now to the cargo deck. Anders whimpered at the sound of those heavy boots growing nearer. “Shhh… Shhhh…” Fenris hugged Anders head to his stomach with one hand. Anders buried his face into the thin fabric. Fenris nearly snarled and wished he had laced up his vest. Anders’ stubble scratched over the soft skin.

They both practically held their breaths as what sounded like maybe four strong Templars moving crates, popping some open, digging into the nooks and crannies of the cargo deck. “Sir, I think there’s space behind these ones,” spoke a knight on the other side of the crates at Fenris’ back. Fenris tensed, ready to call upon the lyruim in his brands and deal as much death as he could. “Found a barrel of raw lyrium here!” called another. “Blighted smugglers. Confiscate it.” Commanded a third. “If you can’t move those crates, team up and ram it into the nook. If there’s a stow-away, he’ll be dead and not our problem. If it’s a mage, we’ll know and deal with it.”

Fenris quickly adjusted his footing to be sure that anything shoved into him would not crush Anders’ knees. Then he braced his hands against the wall. Two Templars grunted and rammed into the stack of crates. The stack rammed hard into Fenris’ back and no further.

“Good work men. Crates must be stacked well into that nook. Let’s head up and report.” Boots stomped around the cargo area and headed above to join the many there.

When he was sure they were gone, Fenris hissed out his pain. It soon got chased away by a light tingle of healing magic. Anders still shook with terror, but at least he was coherent enough to heal. Fenris listened carefully, whispering the actions or words he knew he could hear but Anders could not. He left out that he heard them speak of the mages they had on their ship and the ones they were going to make tranquil before they reach Kirkwall. It was a choice not unlike the one they made in Traiders Bay to not kill slavers. Now they had to wait till Athenril was clear of the Templar ship so she could let them out. “Vanhedis,” Fenris cursed again at what he overheard. “The blighted Templars are going to ‘escort us for our own safety’ and then cut ways in the morning.”

After another hour, Fenris stretched. “Anders? Why are you so frightened?”

Anders hugged around Fenris’ waist again and mumbled into Fenris’ stomach, “I would get punished a lot in the Circle. Chained with lyrium-infused iron so I can’t use my magic.” His voice was small and far away and shook with his body. “They’d chain me to my lesson desk or the crafting desk. They’d put me in isolation when I would not listen. Isolation was … deep… dark… no light, not sound, just a tiny grate for air. It was enchanted with runes so I could not reach the Fade or cast at all. Sometimes a cat would come to the grate and I would talk to it. I named it Mr. Wiggums.” He tensed suddenly at Fenris’ touch, as gentle fingers moved through his hair to the scarring around his neck. “The Templars would… do things in your chamber or the cell you were chained in, play their games… Force…” Anders shuddered and had to take several large gulps of air. He could not continue.

Fenris knew all these things so well. Slaves were treated thus. He had dragged people to an isolation box  to enforce obedience. All at the command of Danarius. He had seen them come out and seen how slaves behaved after hours or days in isolation. The very thought of being returned to isolation often cowed them afterwards. It all made sick sense, now. All of Anders’ reactions and behavior. How had he not recognized it before? ( _Because he was a powerful mage and I looked no further.)_ And the mention of Templar games. A jest Anders made to Aveline and now Fenris knew how Anders’ jests were actually the truth buried in light-hearted words or sarcasm again. Anders had asked about those games because he had suffered at the hands of them and they were not fun games. Rape was not a game for the one chained to the wall.

Fenris rumbled out with fierce conviction, “I will never do that to you. Never force anything upon you… just as you have never done so upon me.” He had to remind himself that not all Templars were like that, just as not all mages were like Danarius and the other magisters. But for those that were, he added them to the barrel of those he despised and would kill, would gladly feel their hearts bleed and beat their last beat in the palm of his hand absent their chests.

The hours continued to pass and Anders hooked his thumbs into Fenris’ waistband so as to relax his arms but still keep them around the only safe security he felt there. Fenris huffed and shifted, growing tired of standing and tried to lean to relieve the strain. “Do you want to sit?” asked Anders, not that he wanted to be the shield and stand in Fenris’ place. Fenris sank gratefully down to sitting, regardless of the fact that it meant sitting in Anders’ lap. Anders gasped and said nothing more.

“Is this alright?” Fenris asked nervously and felt Anders nod against his cheek. He growled, “When we get out of this, do me a favor.”

“Anything,” Anders breathed back into the pointed ear unknowingly.

“Shave.”

There was a startled giggle from Ander. “What? Shave?”

“Yes. Shave.” Fenris secretly enjoyed the unguarded giggles and breathy laughter.

“I’ll look like a girl if I do.”

It was Fenris’ turn to rumble in his deep chuckling. “That will add to your disguise then.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll shave for you, but not always. Only when I get real rough. Better yet, I can make it kitten soft.”

“Have you lost all sense?” Fenris wondered. Hands roved delicately up his back with tendrils of magic healing further the bruises from the crates. Fenris arched his back and bit his lip. What possessed him to sit like this in Anders’ lap?

Anders then rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder. “No. I just have never had reason to make or use the potions to do it. No one cared how I looked or felt before.”

After some time of silence, when Fenris had relaxed and felt certain his private bits would not misbehave due to proximity, he asked, “Are you still scared?”

“Yes, but less so with you here.”

Fenris smiled and held Anders to him as Anders held him in turn. Fenris counted his breaths to keep focus and tried not to yawn too much. He grew too tired to care that they sat in an awkwardly intimate position.

Anders had no thoughts of intimacy, however. He felt too frightened. Templars were escorting the ship and could board it again at any time. He could be dragged away and made Tranquil or killed. And the dark cramped space kept invading his thoughts with memories of the past. He listened to the elf’s steady breaths. His other fear was that he would lose himself again or forever to Justice or Vengeance. He anchored his hope in Fenris.

When Athenril’s men came to release them, Anders bolted for the main deck where he danced barefoot in the dawn light and then flopped with what had to be a painful thud onto his back and crowed his love and joy for sky and fresh air and sunlight. Athenril side-glanced Fenris questioningly. He replied with an embarrassed shrug. “He was claustrophobic,” he offered by way of explanation. Then he asked Anthenril to have one of her men rouse him in four hours so he can take a shift working with the sailors.

“Is he… fit? To do healing? Some of my men need it after the Templars…”

 “I am sure he is, but let him stay topside as much as he wants today, unless your men cannot come here. He’ll be normal in an hour.” Or so he hoped. Fenris watched the crazy antics a few moments longer before turning to head down to catch some sleep.


	31. Meanderings

Anders had barely caught sight of Fenris disappearing down into the ship to grab sleep. He thought about doing the same, but to be without the sky at the moment was not worth it. Once he was finished being totally silly, he approached Athenril and apologized with a boyish grin and thanked her for her patience with him. As “punishment” for his ridiculous display, she ordered him down to get dressed and come back to heal people. He saluted her, still grinning and did as commanded.

He was still giddy and high on the endorphins of freedom from the sense of an isolation box. Anders almost skipped down the stairs and would have loudly announced his arrival in the room with a cheer when he saw Fenris asleep in the bed. Fenris stirred instantly at the sound of the door opening. “Sorry,” apologized Anders in a loud whisper as he tiptoed to their gear and sought out his clothes. He sat on the floor, pulling on socks and boots, then shoved his arms into his coat and tried to straighten the bent feathers of the pauldrons.

He watched Fenris for a few moments as the elf curled more tightly into a ball. “Are you cold Fenris? Want another blanket?” At the tired nod, Anders layered a couple blankets over the elf.

Healing crewmembers turned out to be mostly an easy task. The captain had taken the worst of the injuries as he had also taken the blame for the smuggled lyrium powder. He fell into a routine not unlike his rhythm of healing in the Darktown clinic, tending every hurt and illness and infection one by one as they came up. The last two crewmen he saw had exasperated him enough to raise his voice just a little. “By the Maker! You two! Wash your toys before using them! You have salt water all around! If you had just washed your damned toys, you would not have these infections. How many people have you passed this on to?” He sighed at the now sheepish looking pair of elves and handed then the last of a salve and made mental note to remake more later. “Read this label carefully. Get more… LOTS more. It will disinfect your heads and kill the virus. But you should also use it for slicking both you. Lubrication is key to preventing damage of this nature and later infections. Trust me. And use this lubrication on your toys too.” He shooed them from the room. To himself after he ranted quietly. “Any longer and their bits would rot right off. Maker, why can’t people remember to wash their sensitive man bits?!”

“Ande…” No whatever he was going to ask flew from his thoughts. “They… Were they…” Fenris shuddered. No, he should not ask about those two men. “Toys?” He regretted even saying the word as the connotations of sex flitted to the surface of his mind. He turned a deep crimson across cheeks, nose and up to the very tips of his pointed ears. “Diseased,” he coughed, “Privates?” Fenris had come to drag Anders to bed and now thought perhaps his actions might be misconstrued.

“Fenris?” Anders gave him a curious questioning look. “Is something wrong?”

Fenris’ eyes followed the two other elves a moment before they disappeared down into the cargo hold. He shuddered. “I thought only Isabela suffered… uh… that…” he shuddered again.

“Oh Fenris, anyone can suffer it and pass it around to others.”

Fenris tried to keep his disgusted cringing under control. “Can… will those parts actually rot off?”

Anders had no idea where to begin and had to remind himself that Fenris had been a slave with likely very limited education, clearly. “Never with me around. Stop worrying, it is not contagious unless you engage sexually with them while they are infected. And I will never be infected so you really have nothing to worry about.” He packed his supplies into his bag. Anders realized he let something slip he had not meant to and hoped Fenris did not catch it. He decided to change subject immediately to cover it up. “Why are you here? There isn’t another problem is there? We are still safe?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He did not miss the slip but dared not come back to it himself. “All is well. Though it is getting colder and a light storm is on its way according to the captain. You should get some sleep before it hits. Athenril wants us both on the main deck during it. Something about needing ‘all hands’ or something.”

Anders sighed in relief and headed into their tiny cabin to sleep. Sleep did not come, though. His mind kept coming back to so many things of late. Fenris. Templars. Fenris. Cages. Fenris. Drowning. Fenris Fenris Fenris. He smothered himself a few seconds with the pillow. Anger boiled up to confuse and frustrate Anders. Unreasonable and cold. Justice.  “What?! I can fuck but I cannot be emotionally involved? Screw you!!” Anders flopped onto his belly and dragged over the new journal.

_Dear journal that I will never ever show to Fenris,_

_He made me a promise. He promised me to listen and to try to understand and to answer anything I ask of him. He’s reading my life but he isn’t really seeing it all. So much never gets written down. Justice and I are at odds again. Just because I like Fenris does not mean I love him._

_Fenris… is Fenris. I was going to say that he has changed so much, but he hasn’t really. I have always known he could be devoted, loyal, caring and compassionate. It had just never been directed at me before. Usually he just challenges me or accuses me. Calls me Apostate. Oh… he knows some of why now that I cannot stand the word beyond the obvious. He saw them. He… touched them. Hawke didn’t care about my scars. I kind of liked that. It let me pretend they were not there and that what happened to me could have been something that happened to someone else. But Fenris never hides from things, never really runs away. "Turn and face the tiger," he once said. He said something to me… that the scars mark strength. I wish I could believe him. I did not feel strong when I received them. I was scared, helpless, while they… cut them into me. One for each really serious escape. At least Alrik is dead. I can only hope that Jadran is dead too._

_He said something I don’t want to forget. “Or brands are a testament of our strength to fight for our freedoms.”_

_Fenris has been… kind to me the last few months. I never would have really thought him considerate. It was unjust to think that. He has actually been more considerate than anyone ever had before. He doesn’t gift you all the time with everything interesting for your field of whatever you can do like Hawke. Oh Hawke… It has been almost a year. My heart aches some thinking of him. Fenris assures me that Hawke does not hate me now and that he actually still cares. After everything and all that I know now of Hawke and even myself, I think I am actually ok about our break-up. I just hope we can be friends. Friends are what I think Fenris and I are becoming._

_When Fenris gives a gift, it is almost like a sneaky backhand with affection. He had taken my breath away. He hasn’t always done the right thing for me. Bringing all my crap from Hawke’s just kind of pissed me off. But after a bit, maybe it was the right thing after all. It gave me a chance to read my own journals and come to terms with my feelings and failings. The crafting room. Not THAT was… that was… I have no words for how right that was. I love the crafting almost as much as I love healing others. It must have been really hard to be as social as he would have had to be to find all the right supplies._

_And now, he watches me more. He reaches for me. He even touches. I have woken to his hand in my hair, but refuse to open my eyes in case he stopped. He lets me heal him without complaint or even hesitation. That is super recent though. I think only after I explained my way of healing to him. I still can’t stop thinking about that kiss. I am not sure what to make of it. Does he ever think about the consequences of his actions when he rushes into something? Is that what happened with he and Hawke? He rushed in ignorant of the consequences and then frightened himself off?_

_He is still so new to free actions and the world of socializing and especially sex. He is practically a virgin. Violated by his own former master, but that is not sex or making love. While some things are so blatant, he is a prude about other things._

_Oh and I am so relieved that he did not try to kill me after he woke from the hyperthermia. I really liked holding him. I want to hold him like that again. Or have him sleep in my lap. He gets the most peaceful look on his face. All the lines of anger, pain and stress fade away and show how handsome he is. I know his brands hurt him all the time. I can see it in his eyes and posture. Maybe if he is more comfortable with me. He will let me ease that. I know I can. As for those spells and locks and traps implanted right into him… Maker, how I hate Danarius. I want to figure out how to undo them. I think I can, even without the aid of the books and stuff from Vigil’s Keep. It won’t be fun, but I am sure I can do it. It would even likely ease a good deal of his pain, too. I wonder why and how he survived the branding. And why the lyrium has not poisoned him. Pure refined lyrium like that cannot be handled by anyone but mages, Tranquil and dwarves. I wonder if maybe Fenris has some weak latent mage talent. His sister turned out to be a mage, so it is very possible. That would certainly explain it all._

_I was terrified when that magister was controlling him, but not near so terrified as when he fell and drowned. I haven’t been alone for several months now and I am not sure I could go on alone without him. I think… I know… I would likely get caught at some point and just… die._

_This is twice now that Fenris has seen me a gibbering idiot. Hawke had told me that it was Fenris who pulled me out of the Deep Roads cage I fell in. I didn’t believe him. I figured Fenris would have rejoiced and left me there to rot. I wonder why he didn’t. He was really amazing down there in that freakishly small nook we hid in. I was really losing it and ready to hide somewhere inside and let Justice be the brave one in my place. He kept me to the here and now. He talked to me and held me. OH MAKER! He sat right in my lap! Fuck me._

Anders slammed the book shut as Fenris entered. “Mage, you are supposed to be sleeping.” He took a blanket and wrapped it around himself.

“It really is getting cold out there. Come… It will be warmer here.” Anders removed his own blankets and made room for Fenris who was too cold to complain about their closeness and simply allowed Anders to bundle him up. “When we get to Fereldon, we will have to get you warmer clothing. Well, get us both warmer clothing. It will soon be winter there.” His eyes lit up suddenly. “Oh! Snow! I can’t wait for snow!”

Fenris stuffed his freezing toes under Anders’ leg for extra warmth. “What is snow?”

“You don’t know what snow is?! Didn’t you get cold weather and winter in Minrathous?”

Fenris shook his head. “It rained and rained. That was winter for us. Minrathous bridges between a desert and a tropical jungle.”

“Hold out your hand.” Anders poured some water into his own palm from a water skin and cast a tiny bit of ice magic.

Fenris felt the tug on his brands and grimaced a little in surprise. Then gasped as Anders thumped a clump of white frozen water crystals into his hand where they started to melt.

“That is snow. And Fereldan gets lots of it. Nothing like the Anderfels gets, but plenty enough.” Anders grinned again almost boyishly with anticipation.

Fenris dried his hands and buried himself under the blankets. “Get to sleep or do I have to see if you have a sleep potion and make you sleep?”

“I always sleep better when you are here.” Anders curled up like a cat to Fenris’ amusement. It always baffled him how such a tall man as Anders could fit in such a small place as this bed with Fenris also in it.


	32. New to Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris discovers he is actually afraid of something.

Fenris managed to get a few more hours rest after he was sure Anders was asleep and not locked in battle with Justice in the Fade. Some things unsettled him now in his life that he made a mental list of. Danarius was top of the things that unsettled him. Was it fear? No, not exactly. Maybe. It was definitely hate. Okay, fear of what he would do under Danarius’ control. That, yes that. He added losing Anders to that possessing spirit before Hawke found a way to free him.

What an oddity that it almost made Fenris laugh to himself. He was cataloguing things that somewhat frightened him because normal people were afraid of some things. If he had any other fears before he received his lyrium brands, he can’t remember them. They could not have been very deep rooted.

Anders stretched and was startled awake by a thud and scramble and flash of lyrium. “Oops. Sorry! I didn’t mean to kick you from the bed! I’m not use to you actually, you know… sharing one with me… with me still in it.”

Fenris crouched with flared lyrium brands. Then he let out a loud yell as they released. Anders slid from the bed. “I’m sorry. Let me help?” Anders fully expected Fenris to snarl at him, storm out, say something nasty. He understood why now. The brands were painful. Activating and releasing them was like being burned alive along all those lines over and over. It was a horrible reminder of the horrible things magic can do to someone. Anders felt incredibly stupid for only now really grasping that.

Fenris stood very still as Anders crept closer. Anders slowly touched a bare shoulder and as he breathed, a trickle of blue-green magic soothed and healed the pain away. “I am getting better at this, am I not?” Anders asked with a gentle smile.

Fenris simply grunted, “We should be moving on.” It was one of his habitual phrases.

It made Anders snicker slightly. “We are on a ship, you know. There is nowhere to ‘move on’ to.”

Fenris scrunched his face wrinkling the bridge of his nose, “I meant up onto the deck.” He turned on a bare heel and flung open the door.

Anders grabbed up his coat because it was chilly, he could feel it in the breeze already and hear the icy rain falling on the wood. He turned back to their room and laid out all the blankets on top of each other. Then he opened the drawer and found the stray bricks inside. He had asked some of the sailors about them during the healing. Brilliant idea! He could not imagine sailors had come up with it and well, of course they would. He felt a bit silly and smug at the same time. He cast a fire spell on the bricks to heat them and then stuffed them under the blankets to warm the whole bed for later. It will be a great surprise for Fenris, since Anders was sure Fenris would be an elf-cicle by the end of the day.

On the deck, Anders found it very wet and chilly. The rain indeed came down like sleet, but the wind was decent and the sails full. Everyone was busy and he was not permitted to be idle for long. For a moment he panicked not seeing Fenris till he looked up. Anders shook his head. Of course Fenris would be up in the masts and rigging again. He supposed Fenris liked the intense feeling of flying while up there. A feeling of freedom. Anders watched a few moments longer till he was prodded back to work.

Anders spent half the day on deck and the other half below healing frostbitten fingers and pointed ear tips. The waters grew rougher with the wind and Anders found he needed to be very careful not to spill potions or let them roll away. Occasionally there was a yell as sailors slipped on the icy deck or ropes. One was brought in with a broken leg from a fall and two others with hyperthermia. Anders came to the deck in frustration of the sprains and yelled a warning moments before casting fire across the deck surface. It startled the crew, but melted the ice. He was just about to beam a grin of satisfaction when the ship tilted again and he fell anyways with a collection of colorful curses he learned from brothels he had hid in on his way to Kirkwall.

Lightening flashed off the starboard side. A few more yells and a splash followed another lightening flash when Anders realized lightening doesn’t happen in this kind of storm. “Fenris?” He looked up into the rigging and tracked to where a sail was falling loose and two sailors and Fenris had slipped from the cross mast, where they were trying to tie the sail cloth into place. “FENRIS!” One of the sailors fell into the water as the wind caught that sail and swung it out billowing, throwing Fenris off his perch. Anders staggered to his feet and tried to run for the railing only to hit the deck face first again.

The flicker of Fenris’ lyrium brands gave a sense of lightening as he slid fast through the ropes to a sudden stop over the water, tangled, dangling. A scream had ripped through his stomach and out his throat without warning as he fell. Hands burned as rope fled through his grip. The sudden stop left him tangled and hanging over the rough waters, left shoulder wrenched so hard he felt it pop, but his wrist was caught too tightly in the knots to ease it from the weight of his own body. His other hand stung ferociously. None of it seemed real, all so distant in his mind as he stared at the water. He kept feeling like it rushed up at him to swallow him and drown him. Fear for the first time freezing him in place, unable to look away from what seemed like impending death, like the fall from the cliff, like those same waters. He heard nothing. Understood nothing. He hung their trapped. His brands flickered again and he screamed, even though he didn’t know he was screaming. Distantly he thought he would have to amend his short list of things he feared. Distantly he chided himself for being foolish and screaming like he was going to die.

Anders grabbed the rail of the starboard side of the ship and yelled for Fenris to look at him. He reached out, the ropes were so close.  Fenris was so close. Someone tied a rope around Anders waist and had a firm grip on his belts as he leaned farther. “Fenris! Stop looking down! Fenris! Here! Look at me! Fenris!!” When the elf did not so much as twitch, Anders leaned as far as he could. His fingers brushed rope and Fenris’ hand but could not get hold of him. All Fenris had to do was reach back, just a little. Anders knew what must be happening. He knew immobilizing fear. He’d felt it. His healer training at least allowed him a bit of knowledge when it was not himself immobilized.

Anders prayed Fenris would forgive this, but he needed to get his attention. “FENRIS! Look at me! YOU STUPID FUCKING USELESS SLAVE! LOOK AT ME!!”

Fenris heard that. Rage rose in him like a forest fire and he turned hate-filled eyes in the direction of the command to see Anders. Anders? Called him that?

“Thank the Maker, Fenris. Stay looking at me. Hate me later. You need to take my hand. Take it now, before the wind changes. Do not look down, only at me.” When Fenris frowned and his gaze slid downward, Anders yelled. “FENRIS! Take my hand. Look at me and take my hand!” The elf grabbed Anders’ wrist in a painful vice grip. Anders did not care. He pulled the elf, rigging and all to the deck where a couple sailors untangled the knots. Anders made note of the strange angle of Fenris’ shoulder, and the red frozen blood down the ropes that had burned and torn through the palms of Fenris’ hands. “I got you, Fenris. I got you. I didn’t mean what I said. I just needed to get your attention.”

Fenris could not even stand; he was so cold and hurt so much. Anders words tumbled into his ear and he wanted to tell him to keep talking. There was solid deck beneath him. There was a solid Anders holding him. He tried to shut everything else out as his face buried into Anders shoulder. He could not make even his arms obey to hold on and was relieved Anders did not let him go. He was immediately reminded how strong Anders could be physically when Anders this time carried him back to their room. Fenris could have kissed every wall and floor and bed sheet to have them around him and to not be suspended over such a height with the sea below.

“I… am not… a slave,” Fenris croaked out from his raw throat. Had he really screamed that much?

Anders, all in healer mode, dealt with clothing and injuries. “No. You are not a slave. But neither are you a bird. So let’s not repeat this, okay? You scared me.”

Fenris quirked a look at Anders. Anders was scared? He should have been in Fenris’ place! Then he closed his eyes and gave in gratefully to his healer.

“This is going to hurt, please do not kill me.” Anders scooped Fenris up around the good shoulder and hooked a grip around the bad one. He poured healing magic into the shoulder and then pulled till it popped back into place. Fenris tried to smother his yelled but couldn’t. “It’s over.” He laid the elf back down and salved both of Fenris’ hands before treating everything else. “I told you I would never let you drown again.” Anders bundled the elf into the blankets as Fenris curled close. “You are safe now, Fenris,” he soothed and he carded through the white hair.

Fenris did not argue nor brush off the comforting touch. It had been so very long since Fenris had felt this kind of terror, not since Danarius. “I no longer like the sea. I wish for dry land soon.”

“Soon, my lo… my friend. Soon.”


	33. Fereldan Shore

Both elf and mage remained below in their room unless Anders was called to heal others. He had noted that Fenris had reacted less poorly than usual to his healing magic as he gave the warrior’s wounds another pass before salving both hands again. “I am sorry, but you will need to rebuild your calluses on your hands. Those rope burns really tore…” He quieted as he felt Fenris flinch. “Too much?”

Fenris simply grunted and nodded.

“The storm stopped yesterday,” Anders changed the subject. He rubbed the salve carefully into the tender new skin of Fenris’ palms. “We should be seeing Fereldan shores. Athenril says we’ll be landing in High Ever.” A nervous glance away showed his anxiety. That anxiety vanished with a tiny flicker of silver light in Anders eyes.

Fenris did not miss it as he narrowed his. “Anders?” When the mage looked back, his eyes were once again the usual amber brown. Fenris would have to remember to watch for that from now on.

“I think I want to watch us sail into the docks. Will you come with me to the deck?” Anders still felt his stomach knotting. Fereldan had Wardens and Templars and Circles and any number of triggers. But Fenris was here to protect him and to protect everyone else from him. And honestly, the elf was going to have to come out of the little room at some point if they were to disembark the ship. Anders knew there would be no more climbing rigging for Fenris, and likely few if any sea voyages in their future after this one.

With the bandaging off his hands, Fenris tested his ability to move and use them. The skin felt strong enough, though tender, sensitive. He gritted his teeth and tried not to curse about it. Anders had done his best. At least he will be able to use them and be able to wield a sword again. He’ll just have blisters. He corrected his thoughts. Anders can heal the blisters. It won’t take as long to get back to his usual toughness as it was to get there in the first place. Or so he hoped. His memories were still fuzzy regarding pre-lyrium branding events.

On the Deck, Anders walked to the front of the ship, hands clasped behind his back. The wind was brisk and blew his hair to the side. Fenris stepped up beside him and asked, “Are you afraid?”

“No. But I am nervous. Highever is the former home of the Couslands. Most of it was in riot and falling apart during the Blight. The Teyrn’s all but executed,” Anders started to reply. At a wrinkle of confusion from Fenris, he explained, “A Teyrn is higher in rank than an Arl which is higher than a Bann. The Banns rule the Bannorn. Banns are like Lords. The Teyrn’s are above them and below the king. If the royal family falls entirely with no heirs, then the kingdom turns to one of the two Teryn families.”

“You called yourself a Bann Lord.”

“I thought you understood our noble ranks. I’m sorry. In the Anderfells, I would be Bann Lord if my father is dead and if I was not disowned. Bann Lords are like Arl's. There are lots of Banns there, but no actual Arl or Teyrn or King. They rule by Counsel and Chantry. My father holds the most prosperous land and so the greatest weight on the Counsel. Banns in Anderfels are like Teyrn in Fereldan. There are four Bann Lords and a dozen Banns and a fair number of lesser Lords. I don’t think I would inherit anything, honestly. Considering what I am. Most likely the land will either get divided among the Banns or the Bann Lords, or if my father put it in his will, the land would go to the Chantry. The latter is most likely. Anderfels follows Fereldan law otherwise and is under the Fereldan King eve thhogh there are whole contries in between.” Anders took a deep breath to try to wipe his history from his mind. ( _The ought to just sandwich Orlais and wipe it and its Chantry out.)_ But those were Vengeanc's thoughts.

“So, Highever.” Anders decided to reign in the subject. “Highever fell to treachery at the hands of Arl Rendan Howe at the time of the Blight. Nathaniel Howe’s father. Its remaining heir disavowed by the people as a traitor. A Grey Warden enforced the Right of Claiming and made him a Warden. And then Ostagar fell to more treachery and the darkspawn killed all but two Wardens. Aeden Cousland and Alistair. Aeden, you should know is the Hero of Fereldan. And the Warden who Claimed me from Templars, making me a Warden. Alistair is King married to the other Teyrn Cousland family, from the south, from Gwaren. Lots of political mess for Highever. Anyways. Highever is no longer in the hands of the Howes or the Couslands. Highever is port city now pretty much owned and run by the Merchant Guilds. It was kind of rough last time I was there on my way through Soldier’s Peak over to Ameranthine. I have no idea what it will be like now. Soldier’s Peak belongs to the Wardens. Outside Ameranthine is another Warden stronghold called Vigil’s Keep. I think Nathaniel is Arl there now. To the South West is Lake Calenhad and the Circle tower is on an isolated island. Well… there is a crash course in the history and geography of Northern Fereldan. I’ll quiz you after lunch.”

“You will what?” asked Fenris.

“Nevermind.”

Fenris let it go. Anders was babbling. It was what he did when he was nervous. At least it was useful, informative and educational babble. Fenris would remember it. The key thing to remember right now was that they were landing in a hot bed of merchants and likely black market guilds. It would be like being back in Kirkwall. The other thing to remember was critical for protecting Anders. They were landing in a place smack between Templars and Wardens, both of which Anders had been running from. Although, Anders did manage to bring Bethany to a fort not far from Kirkwall without incident. And Nathaniel Howe didn’t try to take Anders back when they met and worked with him briefly in the Deep Roads. Fenris suspected that the Wardens were not really as upset with Anders as Anders thought they were. Food for thought if things get dicey with Templars.

The port came into view. Many more docks spread along its coast than Kirkwall’s docks. In the distance, a castle seemed to show in ruins on the horizon. Perhaps this port was more like Traiders Bay? Except… flatter. Nothing stood more than three floors tall. That suited Fenris just fine. He was no longer interested in falling from great heights over sea water. Anders scanned the shore, the docks, every scrap he could possibly see. When he saw no Templars and no Wardens, he heaved a sigh of relief. Satisfied, he headed back to their room to collect their things. Fenris did a second look, knowing too well what Anders sought. There may not be any telltale signs of Templars or Warden, but that did not mean there weren’t any informants.

They wrapped cloaks about themselves, shouldered their packs and walked out with their gear. Blade of Mercy had been slung with Anders staff, still named Simplicity, wrapped together and over Fenris’ back. Anders once again dressed as a general mercenary with a simple short sword at his hip and feeling especially uncomfortable. They walked down the plank onto the dock. Fenris stopped just out of the way to adsorb the stillness of the land under his bare feet.

They had successfully fled Kirkwall. Now, to survive and find a way to get news to and from Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends Part 1 of Trust and Guardianship. Stay tuned for Part 2: Of Snow and Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my NaNoWriMo project. I finished a story that is more than 50K words and that 50K of those words were written in November alone. Thanks to everyone for their support.


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